


Ecto-high

by J_Nerd



Category: Ghostbusters (2016)
Genre: Addiction, Drug Use, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Ghostbusters family unit, Hurt/Comfort, Medical Trauma, Mild Gore, Physical Trauma, Pre-established Holtzbert, Psychological Horror, Psychological Trauma, Sexual Content, Sorry Not Sorry, This story gets dark, they say we hurt the characters we love most
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-08
Updated: 2017-07-23
Packaged: 2018-08-20 05:05:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 99,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8237107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/J_Nerd/pseuds/J_Nerd
Summary: The Time Square incident changed so much. Overnight, the Ghostbusters became a sensation, but an unforeseen change is taking place under the skin. If Erin and Abby's persistent white hair wasn't evidence enough of this radical metamorphosis, what comes after blows the ‘buster’s collective minds. Turns out you don’t need radioactive spiders to make you something more than human. And while this new revelation is beyond exciting, no one anticipates the toll. They say addiction is a vicious bitch. Truer words were never spoken.





	1. Intro

**Author's Note:**

> Okay you all! Starting a new venture into uncharted waters. I've been working on this fic in tandem with two other writers, and I have to say, this is the darkest piece of fiction I've ever written. And I've written really fucked up shit, so buckle up. I'll update at least once a month if not more depending on my school and work schedule. Feel free to come visit me on my tumblr not-so-secret-nerd.tumblr.com
> 
> Also, this story will reference an earlier piece of mine entitled "Stay With Me" which can be found here on my AO3. So if anything, give that a glance over if something I mention here in Ecto-high doesn't make sense.

Rubber tires screech unpleasantly in the hazy September night, shattering the wharf’s sleepy maritime silence like a brick through a window. A red and white hearse roars past pylons and docked ships at an almost unhinged speed before swinging a full one-hundred and eighty degrees and rocking to a stop in front of a dark warehouse. The emergency light atop the vehicle continues to spin, illuminating the area in bursts of yellow.

“Jesus, Holtzmann!” Abby shouts, kicking open the passenger door and all but falling out in her mad scramble for solid ground. “This isn’t Fast and Furious! You don’t have to drift into parking spaces, _especially ones next to a large body of water like the Hudson!_ ”

“I live my life a quarter-mile at a time,” Holtz quotes the same movie with mock-seriousness from behind the wheel, making a zooming motion with her hand.

"I’m going to seriously start prescribing Dramamine whenever we’re in the car with you, you maniac,” Abby said, slamming her door shut. She wasn’t sweating from the muggy September heat but rather their terrifying journey from the firehouse to the wharf. Holtz had promised to make it in record time. She’d delivered.

Beside Abby, the back passenger door swings open and a visibly shaking Erin spills out into the night, looking somewhere between ‘I’m going to hurl my dinner’ and ‘someone stop the earth from spinning, I want off’. She, out of everyone, was the most susceptible to motion sickness. 

“I’m gonna ask this again,” Patty said in the same woozy state as everyone, save Holtzmann. “Where did you learn to drive?”    

“Classified,” Holtz says with mock seriousness, stretching beside the car, completely unperturbed. “Purely a need to know basis.”

Patty sobers, straightening. “Holtzmann, be straight with me. You have a license, right?” The engineer makes a series of vague gestures. Shrugs. Maybe mumbles. “Was any of that meant to be understood or reassuring?”

“You know Holtz-isms are their own thing,” Abby said, finally able to stand without the world tilting on its axis. She nudges Erin to see how she’s fairing. The brunette moans slightly, still trying to wrestle down her nausea, but raises a reassuring hand. So far her dinner hadn’t made a second appearance.

“I’ve had a license,” Holtz insists dramatically, hand against her chest.

“Past tense! You _had_ one, meaning you don’t _have_ one now!”

Holtz makes a flippant gesture. “Why do I need the great state of New York to tell me I’m an awesome driver?”

Patty sputters like an ignition stalling. “Man, you ain’t driving again. This is ridiculous! I can’t believe all these years I’ve let you drive us around! I’m gonna swipe your keys from now on!”

The engineer spins and puts her hands on the roof of the car, spreading her legs in the universal sign of ‘assume the position’. “Do your worst, but know I’ve made copies.”

“You serious?” Patty draws back, stopping mid-tirade.

“She’s not joking,” Erin said in a warbling voice, finally stable enough to join the conversation. She mops sweat from her face with the back of her hand. Thankfully, the dark evening hid the clammy pallor of her face. “I’ve found a couple around the firehouse. One was in the fridge.”

“You’re not going to start snitching on me, are you Gilbert?” Holtz squints overtop the hearse. 

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Erin said with an audible eye-roll, pushing off the car. She wobbles once before righting herself and heads for the back hatch, eager for the night to just be over with. It was their only call, but she’d been pulled away from a near breakthrough on her most recent thread of work. Having to leave it and the inspiration behind was just a bit galling.

Erin tunes Holtz and Patty out, focusing on getting her stomach to settle before she was forced to chase after an entity. Nothing worse than having to stop and vomit in a corner during a bust. Eventually, Holtzmann marches to the back of the hearse, Patty in tow. The hatch opens with a pop, proton packs and other equipment sliding out on the retractable metal table.

“Gather round, my ducklings, gather round. See what Mama has cooked up for you today.”

“Enough with the foreplay, sailor, what are you selling?” Abby said just as eager to get started as Erin.  

Holtz sputters with sudden laughter, recognizing the quote. “That’s an awful show.”

“Says the woman who fell asleep most night in the Higgins lab watching Ren and Stimpy.” 

“Don’t knock the classics.”

“The Simpsons was more my speed,” Patty adds, drawing some surprised looks. “What? Just because I prefer to read doesn’t mean I don’t own a TV or watched one growing up. Come on, ya’ll. We do movie night every Friday at my place.”

Abby nudges Erin with her elbow when she notices the physicist’s far-off look, a sparkle of nostalgia in her green eyes. “You remember sneaking to watch Thundercats on Saturday mornings when I slept at your place way back in the day? Your mom used to get so mad if she caught us.”

Before Erin can form an answer, Holtz grabs the edge of the munitions table like her shock had the power to sweep her away. “How is this just now coming to my attention?”

The physicist smiles with mild embarrassment and shrugs. She, of all people, knew Holtz’s love for pop culture. Erin loves it too, however, in private, smaller moderation. “It was one of my favorite shows as a kid,” she concedes.

“Hot damn! I knew there was more than one reason why I loved you!” The engineer suddenly jumps back, snagging her proton gun in the process, and raises it above her hands with two hands belting, “ _Thundercats ho_!” as loudly as she can into the maritime night.

It was so absurdly Holtzmann, Erin barely contains her laughter behind her hand. Not for the first time, she wonders how she got lucky enough to have such a wonderful dork in her life. These little bouts of randomness were jewel moments, making her stop and warmly appreciate the quirky woman who had stolen her heart.

“Well, that was fun! Now, onto business.” Holtz claps once as if the team’s attention wasn’t already directed on her and does a marvelous impression of Vanna White, motioning to each new item in turn. “New tech briefing! You will notice an addition made to our proton guns. The spook-dar—“

“Can’t we just call it a radar?” Abby whines.

 “Has been upgraded!” Holtz lifts her gun into view and touches a newly installed LED screen, activating the radar. “Its range is around fifty yards now, so it should save us from any unpleasant, up-close-and-personal encounters of the ectoplasmic kind.” The engineer’s gaze flicks up to meet Erin’s, the smile on her face matching the smile in her eyes. Whatever lingering mirth Erin had descended into a scowl.

“Are we ever going to let that incident die?” she groans, feeling a flush crawling up her neck. She tries to distract herself and the others from her warming cheeks by turning and pulling her hair into her customary ponytail.

“Baby,” Holtz croons, leaning her hip against the table, “the day I forget about your tar and feathering is the day I’ll permanently start wearing my hair down.”

While Erin couldn’t necessarily say she’d mind seeing Holtzmann with her hair down more often—the sheer amount of hair the woman possessed was mind blowing—her pleasant daydreaming was tarnished by the remembrance of what had infamously become known as a ‘Ghostbuster tar and feathering’.

“You all laugh. I was slimed _and_ tackled off a second story catwalk.”

“Into a shipping crate full of feather pillows,” Abby adds, trying, unsuccessfully, to squash her building chuckle. Even after half a year, they still laughed about it.

Well, three out of the four did.

“Ectoplasm and feathers bond like glue,” Erin mutters, slinging her pack over her shoulders and self-consciously running a hand along the length of her ponytail. It was shorter than usual, just past the nape of her neck. Patty had been forced to cut it. That was the only way to get the feathers and ecto-goo out.

“Anyway,” Holtz said, stretching out the vowel sounds. “Please make sure you choose your weapons properly. Abby,” she hands the shorter woman what appears to be a significantly smaller version of her proton fist that slides onto her hand like a pair of chunky brass knuckles. “Your Jaw Breaker.”

“We really need to work on your prototype names,” Abby sighs but accepts the weapon nonetheless, threading her fingers through the holes.

“Pattycake has a Chip on her shoulder,” Holtzmann grins, handing the tall woman a condensed version of her ghost-chipper.

“You fix the blowback?”

The engineer presses a hand to her chest, mocking offense. “Patricia Tolan! When have I ever—“

“You’re full of shit, Holtzmann.”

“Point. And yes, I fixed the blowback. No ectoplasm shooting back at you. Can’t have you taking Erin’s role as ecto-magnet.”

To her credit, Erin only flips the smaller woman off rather than giving her ammo by retorting.

“And for my dear, beloved Erin,” Holtzmann pushes forward a silver box, fingertips drumming the lid excitedly. “Your assault shells. Enjoy.”

Erin snorts and opens the box, still not ready to forgive Holtz for mentioning the tar and feathering. Inside are two dozen cylindrical cartridges vaguely similar to shotgun shells. These she loads six at a time into a specialized chamber on her gun. The rest are stored in a sliding clip on her belt. The shells would charge the unbuffered proton stream into a blast of concentrated energy, neutralizing any spectral entity unlucky enough to be within the blast zone. Erin stops before picking up the last two white cartridges, arching an eyebrow at Holtz in an unspoken query. They weren’t her usual rounds.

“Just hear me out,” Holtzmann raises a hand and accepts the cartridge back from Erin. “This kind of goes off your theory, Abby, about the use of minerals against entities. It’s literally a salt round.”

Abby, for her part, looks cautiously intrigued. Erin, however, didn't share the sentiment. “You put a blank round in my shotgun?”

“Salt round, love. Salt round.”

“Untested material."

"Untested…yet,” Holtzmann adds. “Moving on! Please make sure our ghost-be-gone is activated. Don’t want any impromptu possessions tonight.”

No one has any quips for this tool, not even Holtzmann.

On their belts, they activate a palm-sized box which had become standard issue shortly after the Time Square incident three years prior. At the time, the Ghostbusters were new to their craft and still finding their feet business-wise. Even with the portal reversing, New York City had become infested with ghosts. Tampering with ley lines tended to have a lasting effect, almost like a wound slow to heal. It was something the four women still wrestled with presently, but the possession incident in question left Patty struggling with a spiritual clinger-on. It took the team two days to exercise the entity. A week later, Holtzmann presented the team with their ‘ghost-be-gones’.

“We suited up?” Abby asks after buckling her pack into place and adjusting it accordingly. “Right, so, before we go in, a little info on what we’re looking for. According to the land owner, there’s been a rash of sudden paranormal happenings in the warehouse. Started four months ago before the first entity materialized.”

Erin perks up. “It just randomly started happening? Out of the blue?”

“Ahh, I think you and I are thinking the same thing,” Abby smiles, nudging her best friend.

“Ley line discharge.” Fresh calculations and possibilities flood Erin's mind. Her fingers itch for her black whiteboard marker but instead curl around the trigger of her gun.

“Exactly. This section of the map has been quiet since Time Square. No reason it should start acquiring hauntings seemingly overnight, especially older hauntings. As far as our warehouse owner can tell, there’s only one ghost, and it’s probably floating between a Class Two and a Class Three.”

“Ha, floating,” Holtzmann giggles at the pun, stuffing her pockets with tools.

“From here, Patty takes it away.”

“What little history I could dig up suggests this area is a popular destination for mob hits and dumping grounds, but hey, where in New York hasn’t the mob touched, right? More than likely, our ghost is either a dead mobster, hit victim, or wharf worker. Plenty of on-the-job deaths reported over the years, but no reported hauntings until now.”

“Shouldn’t we take some readings?” Erin said, quickly jotting down their location so she can verify it with the map she and Abby had been creating.

“Afterward. Right now, let’s get in and get out.”

The four fall into routine formation: Abby spearheading at the front, Patty and Erin in the middle, and Holtz bringing up the rear.

The warehouse looms two stories above the wharf like a weathered seadog. Silent. Watching. Windows dark save for the occasional flare of passing ship lights. Erin can’t help but stare up at the structure with a sense of foreboding squirming in her gut. Something about it raises the hairs on the back of her neck. It feels like the building is watching her. Doesn’t help Erin still harbors a small fear of the dark and the electricity had been turned off to keep their readings pure, but there’s something else here other than frazzled nerves.

Lost in thought, Erin jumps and almost screams when a pair of hands suddenly latch onto her waist. Arm half-cocked, she spins, but it’s only Holtzmann.

“Jumpy jumpy,” the blonde tisks impishly. “What’s got you wound tight tonight, Doctor Gilbert?”

It takes everything in Erin not to punch Holtz in the shoulder as an incentive not to do that again. “You scared me!”

“You stopped walking. Thought something was on your mind.”

Erin flicks a look back at the warehouse. Abby and Patty had already disappeared past the threshold, probably unaware of the stragglers lingering outside. She can make out the glow of their pack, like two red eyes staring at her from within the darkness. 

“Something feels off,” she admits, feeling her shoulders starting to burn from their anxious bunch. If she didn’t relax at some point they’d probably become acquainted with her earlobes. “I can’t put my finger on it. There just…something there.”

Holtzmann sobers, knowing better than to jest when it came to Erin’s senses. In the three years the team had been together, Erin and Patty both proved to be invaluable assets when it came to gut decisions, even if only one of them had a tendency to listen to it.

“Can you try placing it?” 

“I’ve been trying to since we got here. I don’t know, maybe I’m just projecting my stress. I’m on edge about the committee accepting my latest article, and I’m still stuck on that particle reversal equation.”

Before Erin could deviate down another avenue of thought, Holtz pulls her in and kisses her forehead. “Have I told you recently that you’re a genius, and I love your brain? Cause I do, but maybe what you’re feeling right now is your guy trying to tell you something’s up.”

Erin can’t help but smile warmly, the echo of Holtz’s lips lingering just above her eyebrows. “I’m not the one with the good gut. That’s Patty.”

“Bullshit. Your gut is fine and sexy as hell.” To emphasize her point, Holtz wiggles her fingers against Erin’s sides, satisfied when the taller woman squeaks.

“I’m just psyching myself out,” she said, shoving Holtz with a smile. “Come on, we need to catch up before Abby comes looking for us.”

Not willing to disentangle, the engineer closes the gap between them—hip to hip— and begins to sway slightly. “I like when you laugh like no one’s watching. I get to see the real you shine through. Makes me feel like Christmas morning.”

Erin swats at her girlfriend until she lets go, mood improved. “Rare though the moments are, thank you, but come on.”

“So, Thundercats, eh?” Holtzmann muses as they lightly jog to catch up with their compatriots. “Does that make you the Cheetara to my Lion-O?” Somehow she makes the question dirtier than it should have been. Erin’s cheeks warm.

“And why is it _you_ get to be Lion-O?” Erin queries, lighting her pocket flashlight and letting the beam guide her path. Eight-foot shipping crates stacked two and three high loom around them, creating a maze of pathways.

“Oh ho ho,” Holtz laughs, the sound rich in her throat. “Why indeed? Well, I have the mane, to start with, and the swagger. But I’m all for swapping roles if that’s more your speed.”

The hungry sweep of her gaze peppered liberally with carnal wanting makes Erin swallow and simulations become aware of a pleasant heat building in her abdomen. Thank god her flashlight catches Abby and Patty in its beam, giving the physicist something to focus on.

“Bout time you two showed up,” Abby said, eyes glued to her PKE meter lit up in her hands. “You get distracted again?” Beside her, Patty sniggers, proton gun balanced on one shoulder like a musket.

“Checking something out on the spook-dar,” Holtz explains before Erin can chime in. “Got a weird reading.”

Abby lifts her gaze briefly enough to give the two a disbelieving look over the rim of her glasses. “I’m sure. Do us all a favor and save sucking face for later. We have a job to do.”

“We weren’t _sucking face_ ,” Erin scoffs coolly, disliking the shorter woman's tone. Abby, for her part, ignores it.

“Well gang, I’ve got nothing popping up on the meter, and Holtz’s ‘spook-dar’ isn’t registering any spectral presences. I’ve got some ley line chatter, but nothing substantial, so I guess we’re gonna have to flush this sucker out,” Abby declares with a wide grin, charging her Jaw Breaker by squeezing her fingers into a fist. The machine glows an electric blue. Something to be said about the small scientist, she loved her ghost hunts.

“How many times do I have to tell ya’ll, splitting up is how you die in horror movies. Pretty sure that logic carries over into the real world,” Patty complains but shuffles to take her usual place beside Abby. However, the scientist surprises her by reaching out and snagging Holtz by the sleeve.

“Holtz goes with me. Don’t want any love-struck rendezvous tonight. We meet back at the entrance in an hour if we don’t find anything,” Abby said, already heading off down one of the long pathways. Holtzmann shrugs off the impromptu switch-up, wrapping an arm around Abby’s shoulders and giving her remaining teammates a grinning two-fingered salute.

Left with Patty, Erin can’t help but scowl after the two. She knew Abby meant well, she really did, but sometimes it felt like she was trying to be both a friend and a chaperone. Erin was forty-one years old. The last thing she needed was someone policing her relationships. She’d gotten enough of that with her father…

“Girl, you look like you’re about to pull an Aliens and spit acid."

“No, I don’t. And they didn’t spit acid in Aliens. That was Jurassic Park.”

Patty holds up her hands in light surrender. “All right, all right, so I don’t know my movies all that well. But yah can’t see your face, so yah can’t make that call. Come on, you know Abby’s just having a little fun with you.”

“I get she’s being funny, or at least trying to. I just wish she wouldn’t call into question my professionalism,” Erin mutters, choosing a path at random and firing up her spook-dar. A green arm circles around LED screen like a fast-moving clock-hand.

“Baby girl, no one questions whether or not you take this job seriously. Abby’s just yanking your chain.”

Erin tries to laugh it off, but a part of her still worries her relationship with Holtzmann has caused an undercurrent of unnecessary tension within the group.

Sure, in the beginning, neither Erin nor Holtz had been exactly subtle. Holtz especially: what with her peacock strutting, endless flirting, belted 80’s power ballads, and hundreds of dropped hints and innuendos on any given day. In the end, their collision had been messy, tangled, loud, and unapologetically physical. Popping the cork on nearly two years of pent up sexual frustration tended to cause one hell of a bang, and the two had been riding the wave ever since, feeling their way through the, at times, murky depths of relationship norms.  

And for the most part, everything was fine. Erin was happy. Happier than she had been in years. In Holtz, she found what her mother affectionately called ‘the other side to her coin’. The head to her tails. They were opposites in all things, but somehow that meshed into a cohesive unit with little friction. But Erin still worried. It was her nature. Worried about what dating a colleague would do to the team. Worried she was setting herself up for failure. Worried that, despite Abby’s grins and insisting she loved seeing the two happy and in love, it was a front covering the ache of old scars.    

Pushing her doubts away, Erin falls into stride beside Patty. The warehouse was cavernous. Finding one ghost in the labyrinthine maze of stacked cargo crates and wide aisles was a tall order. Holtz’s new tech would make the process easier, but if the entity didn’t ionize and show itself their trip would be wasted. Such was the life of a Ghostbuster. Not all calls yielded results…or payments.

“So,” Patty said conversationally after the two wandered in silence for a good twenty minutes. “How did that visit with your parents go?” Erin physically cringes at the memory. Patty doesn’t miss the expression. “That bad, huh?”

“It was…taxing,” Erin says carefully, avoiding such words as terrible, agonizing, a waste of time…explosive.

“Holtzy may have mentioned things got a little heated between you and your father. You doing okay?”

 _No_ , Erin wanted to say but kept her objection locked behind her teeth. A year prior, Erin’s parents made the move from Michigan to upstate New York. Erin liked to believe the transplant had more to do with her parents’ combined research avenues than their daughter, but that would have been a lie. Julie Gilbert wanted to be closer to her only child, but the same couldn’t be said in the reversal. Erin would have preferred both her mother and father remain in Michigan. Then visits could be put off until holidays and impromptu luncheons weren’t a constant threat.

It wasn’t that Erin disliked her parents. Far from it. She loved them, but the wounds from her childhood and the continuing disappointment they displayed towards her current field of work made for awkward dinner conversations. Add Holtzmann into the mix, and things became strained. Julie Gilbert wasn’t the conservative type. The same couldn’t be said about her husband.

“My father doesn’t approve of my relationship,” Erin says, filling in the blanks she thinks Patty doesn’t already know. Holtzmann had already vented to the historian, but she wanted to get Erin’s take on the events.

“Based on…?”

“Based on the fact he doesn’t want his only daughter pursuing queer fantasies.” The words come out harsh and cold. They hadn’t been spoken that way. Rather, when coming from Christopher Gilbert’s lips, they had burned like scalding steam.

“Ah man,” Patty shakes her head sadly. “That’s beyond fucked up.”

Erin readjusts her grip on her gun, palms sweaty enough to make the D10 material of her gun grip slippery. “He thought we were alone in the hallway, but we both know how good Holtz’s hearing is.”

The tall woman’s eye grow wide. “Oh _shit_. I’m half surprised she didn’t take a swing at him.”

“She didn’t have to. My mother has excellent aim and was closer…” The implications of what the physicist was saying were plain.

“Oh, baby girl. I’m so sorry.”

Erin barely shrugs, gaze trained forward in a hard attempt to keep the liquid pooling in the corner of her eyes from falling. “It is what it is. My father and I have never seen eye-to-eye. I just had this hope he’d see me happy and be happy for me, but I guess what they say about wishing is true. It only wounds the heart.”

“Hey. No, Erin, look at me.” Patty stops walking, snatching the brunette’s hand before she can move off and crouches so their heights are more even. “Listen to me, string-bean. There ain’t nothing wrong with who you are. _Nothing_. There ain’t nothing wrong with that makes you happy. You can’t help who you fell in love with, but there ain’t nothing wrong with the love you and Holtzy share. And there ain’t nothing wrong with being a Ghostbuster. Fuck your father and his backward, antiquated way of thinking. He doesn’t get to live his life vicariously through you. You are your own person, and I’m proud of you for standing up for yourself.”

Erin never really classified herself as a tactile person, but she hugs Patty, thankful for the friends in her life who constantly grounded her.

“Well, enough of that,” Patty playfully sniffs after reciprocating the embrace. “We got a job to do, and Abby said no romantic rendezvous, so keep that mush to yourself, Gilbert. You ain’t my type, anyway.”

“That reminds me. How was that date you went on a few nights ago? With…Sheela? Shelly? I’m sorry, I’m terrible with names.”

Patty’s lips quirking into a smile. “Shelly, and it went well enough we set up a second date for later next week. The Tenement Museum is having a special event on Wednesday. Shelly’s never been, and you know how much I love early New York history.”

"That sounds like a wonderful idea! Maybe you two can grab dinner at Baker Street afterward?”

“You read my mind."

Together the duo continue along, Erin’s flashlight guiding their path in luminescent swaths. They make it to about mid-center of the warehouse—as far as they can tell it’s the center because the building was huge—without a single sighting to show for their work.

Patty checks her watch and makes a face. “Been almost an hour. Better swing back and meet up with Abby and Holtzy. Maybe they had better luck.”

“I didn’t hear a gun go off,” Erin says, disheartened they hadn’t encountered their intended specter. The bust, it seemed, was, in fact, a bust. Wasted effort always left a sour taste in her mouth.

“In a place like this, pretty sure someone could scream and we wouldn’t hear it.”

“That’s…more than a little disconcerting, but I see your point.”

Retracing their steps, the two fall into comfortable conversation. Patty laughs while retelling a debacle her uncle had been a part of during his ‘wilder years’ when their spook-dars ping in unison, bringing the conversation to a screeching halt.

“Was that…?”

“Yep,” Patty nods, lifting her gun and looking at the rotating spectral sonar. A red dot appeared in the field of green, but pinpointing where the manifesting was taking place was impossible while in the middle of a shipping crate labyrinth. That is until Patty goes rigid. Erin feels it too, her body reacting similarly. In tandem, the two turn, already knowing what to expect but still feeling their pulses jump with familiar excitement.

“You seeing that?” Patty whispers.

Erin nods. A few dozen feet behind them in the oppressive dark of the warehouse hovers an undulating mass of indigo energy. Sparks of isotopic discharge ripple through the entity like captured lightning when Erin’s flashlight beam illuminates it further. In a matter of milliseconds, the ball elongates and takes on a more recognizable shape. The Class Four specter floats a foot above the ground, limbs listless at his side. He doesn’t seem to notice the women, simply hovering like a hangman without his noose. Patty and Erin turn for a better look, and that’s when the latter of the two realizes this isn’t the ghost they’d been sent to find. This was something different.

Older. Much older.

“Is he a…pirate?”

Erin’s question was ludicrously funny. The dead man looked, for all the world, like an extra directly off a swashbuckling Hollywood set, complete with a sword strapped to his hip and a wide-brim hat atop his head. It was almost comical.

“Abby didn’t say anything about pirate ghosts, but, well,” Patty gestures at the specter with one hand while digging in her pocket with another. “He’s a ghost, and we need to catch something tonight.”

Withdrawing something from her jumpsuit, the historian holds up a small silver sphere the size of a ping-pong ball with a depression on one side in the shape of a thumbprint. One of Holtz’s more useful inventions: the net-ball.

Patty presses the depression—listening for the whir of the micro-engine within—before rolling the sphere towards the ghost. Once the internal detectors locked onto a psychokinetic energy reading, the trap would spring open. And that’s exactly what it did. Slowing beneath the ghost, the net-ball glowed a faint red around previously unseen seams before bursting open. Slender ropes of proton energy coiled around the specter, dragging him to the floor where he begins to thrash and scream.

“Man, I love those little balls,” Patty whoops happily but pulls a face when she realizes what she just said. “That…sounded better in my head.”

Snickering, Erin unhooks a trap from her belt and jogs with her partner to the downed entity who had yet to start ecto-projecting, much to Erin’s elated joy. She slides the trap into range, readying the foot pedal, when the neutral atmosphere abruptly changes into something akin to the air before a lightning strike.  

An explosion of movement to their immediate left is the only warning the two women have before a hulking specter charges out of the crate across from them and makes a beeline for Patty. The spirit’s momentum, coupled with the flare of anti-ecto energy from her ghost-be-gone, physically launches Patty off her feet and backward into a shipping crate like she’d been hit with a wrecking ball. Gravity yanks her to the ground, proton pack squealing against the steel.

Too startled to scream, Erin twists out of instinct and fires off a shot with practiced accuracy. The ghostly offender—now picking himself up from his own surprise ejection backward—disintegrates in a shower of blue ecto-energy and mist. It’s over in seconds, and Erin is left standing in the boom of thunder following the lightning.

Holstering her proton gun, she sinks down beside her friend, taking the woman’s face in her hands. Cold panic swirls in her chest. Blood dribbles from one nostril, bright against Patty’s dark skin. Erin gently pats her face, calling her name, trying to revive her. It’s hard to tell if anything was broken or worse—

“What the hell, guys? Was that you?”

Abby’s voice suddenly fizzling into existence from the radio on Erin’s hip makes her jump. She fumbles the walkie-talkie, hurriedly pressing the talk button. “Abby, get over here. Patty’s down.”

“What?!”

“We found the ghost,” Erin explains in a fast tangle. “Wasn’t the right one. He wasn’t alone. Rushed us. Hit Patty. She hit a crate.” A weak groan from the taller woman stops Erin’s rambling and subsequently restarts her heart. She throws up a silent ‘thank you’ to the ceiling. “I think she—“

All the hairs on Erin’s left side raise at once, shock stopping her mid-sentence. She sucks in a breath heavily perfumed with ozone and iron and exhales white vapor. Cold envelopes her. Another exhale. More fog billows from her mouth, and before her widening eyes, blue crackles of static electricity jump between the gaps separating her fingers. Erin knows what’s happening even without her equipment. Psychokinetic ionization on a large scale. A ley line spike, and a big one too.

Things just went from bad to worse.

Erin's spook-dar, previously registering only one ping, suddenly sounds an alarm. Trepidation turning her stomach sour, she watches the once blank screen fill with red dots like spreading chicken pocks.

“Erin?” Abby’s concerned voice crackles over the radio. There’s a pause, almost like the scientist doesn’t want to ask what came next. “Where are you?”

Head down—too afraid to look up—Erin watches in her periphery a thick, low-lying mist form in the aisle to her left. It swirls along the warehouse floor, coiling and boiling and slithering like it possessed a mind of its own. Slowly, it rises into blobs vaguely human in shape. The pinprick of more than a dozen sets of glowing white eyes pierce the mist, ghastly human features emerging from the ionizing ecto-cloud.

“Abby,” Erin manages to squeeze out in a trembling whisper, her lips brushing the radio’s speaker. “I’m gonna need you and Holtz to get over here. Now.”

“Just sit tight! We’re coming.” In the background—because apparently Abby hadn’t let go of the talk button—Erin can hear her snapping at Holtzmann to, “Get down, we’re not stealing a forklift!” before the connection cuts off and she’s left kneeling beside an unconscious Patty while twenty spectral entities solidify into Class Six apparitions no more than thirty yards away, menacing glares all trained on the Ghostbuster.


	2. Holy Water

“The fuck hit me?” Patty slurs, lifting her head and wincing at the pain shooting across her scalp. Her vision is foggy, the world bleeding into blurred currents of motion whenever she shifts her field of vision. She could make out Erin’s hazy outline crouched in front of her, half her body illuminated in a wash of indigo. “When the did you turn into a smurf?”

Both Erin’s smile and relief are strained. “Welcome back. Try not to move,” she cautions, hands on the historian’s shoulder in an attempt to keep her stable. It was like telling the wind not to blow. Patty pushes herself into a sitting position, discombobulation twisting into anger when she finds blood on her coveralls after dragging her arm across her face.

“Oh, hell no!” She’s on her feet before her visibly concerned partner can stop her, swaying against a strong wave of dizziness that forces her to use the crate beside her for balance. “That motherfucker bum-rushed me! Ain’t nobody gonna do that and walk away upright! Where is he?”

“Patty,” Erin winces, feeling the prick of malicious eyes boring into the side of her head. “I don’t think this is the best time to throw around threats.”

The tall woman frowns, noticing the tension coiling Erin’s body into something resembling a tightly wound spring. “Why are you whispering?”

“Because I’d rather not set _them_ off." 

“Oh shit,” Patty chokes, feeling her bravado evaporates. “Where those ugly dudes come from?”

“I don’t know, but we should probably back away slowly and not make eye-contact.”

“They ain’t dogs, Erin,” Patty said flatly, raising her gun, scowl returning now that the shock had dissipated. Her head was beginning to pound, darkening her mood. “Pretty sure backing away isn’t going to keep them from charging.”

“I’m aware of that,” Erin snaps, tension shortening her already frazzled nerves. “But I’d like there to be more distance between us and them.”

“Didn’t sign up for this tonight, nu-uh,” Patty grumbles but follows Erin, backing away, gun trained on the ghostly posse. Not surprisingly, the entities match the women stride for stride, ground given and taken in a delicate dance of danger. Erin and Patty make it to the end of the aisle where the path opened into a four-way split and almost collide with a breathless Abby and Holtzmann.

It takes some fancy footwork to keep everyone from tangling and hitting the floor.

“We hit the jackpot! _Are those seriously freaking pirates_?!” Holtz's elated cry carries through the warehouse, making three out of the four women wince.

“Those are super-ionized Class Six entities feeding off a ley line spike,” Erin said, feeling her stomach do a nauseous flip. Sometimes Holtzmann’s enthusiasm scared the shit out of her. “There’s nothing cool about them!”

“Yah best start believin’ in ghost stories, Miss Gilbert,” Holtz leans in and whispers into Erin’s ear, doing a marvelous pirate impression. “You’re in one.”

“Be serious,” Erin shrugged her off, knuckles turning white against the grip on her proton gun. She feels a cold trickle of sweat roll down her spine, mirroring the perspiration dampening her bangs.

“Pirates of the Caribbean is a serious matter, poppet,” Holtz sniffs, not put off in the least by the entities eyeing them with the severity of a hungry tiger in a cage.

“I thought you said there was only one ghost!” Erin hisses at Abby, taking a reflexive step back when the number of ghostly sailors in various state of ecto-decay grows by three.

“That’s what I was told! Why should I believe otherwise?” Abby said, pressing her glasses back up her nose, mind moving in lightning-fast calculations. The math didn’t look good. And when the math didn’t look good the situation was bound to be shit. There were moments where she knew she miscalculated, and then there were moments like these. 

“Maybe if you’d done a reading before we blindly ran in here!” the physicist chastises.

“On what grounds? There wasn’t any way we could have—“

“Both of you, _shut up_!” Patty snaps, her temper and patience at their wit’s end. “Put your big brains together and figure a way out of this clusterfuck, or so help me, I’m haunting all three of your asses in the event I die tonight!”

“Maybe they’re just looking for their ship or captain?” Erin suggests thinly. A hard look from Patty squashes that dream.

“One of ‘em body-checked me. Ain’t no way they’re looking for anything but a fight, and I’m inclined to give ’em one.” Patty’s proton pack purrs to life, charging the vent holes in her gun barrel red. The tension in the warehouse rises to the point it could be cut with a knife.

“Wait, wait. Hold your ponies. I got an idea.”

“Holtzmann!” Erin almost shrieks, missing a grab for the engineer who dances out of reach like she’s made of liquid. “Get back here!”

Facing the ghoulish crew, Holtz plasters a grin on her face and raises her voice at the same time she raises her hands, practically sauntering into the open area between factions. “My good gentlemen. I would like to request a parley!”

“Jesus Christ, Holtzmann, what the hell?!” she hears Abby hiss, accompanied by a growl of, “Holtzy _no_ ,” from Patty.

She chooses to ignore them both. “Tell me, who among you can grant me that boon? Who is Captain here?”

Holtzmann’s answer comes in the form of a boisterous, collective roar from the gathered masses that would, under normal circumstances, send most people scurrying for their lives. But this was Jillian Holtzmann. It would take more than a pack of screaming, ecto-decaying pirates to rattle her.

“Guess we will not be keeping to the code.” The blonde makes a disappointed face that quickly slides into a mischievous grin. “Hey! Think fast!”

The pirate standing at the center of the group has enough time to fumble catch a beeping grenade before it goes off with a sizable poof—medium to medium-high by Holtzmann standards—taking four brethren with him. Holtz was already running before the blast, flying past her compatriots and screaming as she went, “Back up yards, you cack-handed deck apes! Dying be the day worth living for!”

“Bitch, I ain’t bringing you back again!” Patty shouts, her long legs gaining her the lead in the sprint for safety. Abby and Erin are close on their heels. “Why you gotta escalate things!?”

“You really wanted them to make the first move?” Holtzmann laughs, keeping pace with Patty despite being significantly shorter. Say one thing for the engineer, she could sprint like a deer when necessary.

“I didn’t want anyone to make any move!”

“You might be a genius, but you don’t fucking think sometimes!” Abby shouts from the back. A glance over her shoulder at the pursuing pirates is enough to make her double her speed.

It’s like running through a found footage horror movie. Jerky flashlight beams serve as their only illumination. A flash here, a glimpse there. Elongated shadows skittering across the floor. Crates and dark aisle entrances fly past, leeched of color save for the persistent blue glow of their pursuers.

“We can’t outrun entities that don’t need to breathe!” Erin wheezes, taking a hard right and almost losing her balance had Abby not grabbed her. The brunette yelps when a ghostly hand materializes out of a crate, swiping at her. “Or ones who can walk through walls! We need a plan!”

“Bust or slime, that’s what we do!” Abby heaves beside the physicist, arms pumping hard. 

“We don’t have enough traps!”

“Then what do you suggest?” Patty yells from the front.

“Extermination!” Holtzmann's suggestion sinks through the women like a rock tossed into a lake. There was no need for further explanation—not like any of the ‘busters could argue; things were beyond salvageable—but that didn’t make the arrival of cold dread any better. Trapping ghosts was one thing. Going into hand-to-hand combat…it was a last resort none of the four women particularly enjoyed.

Patty speaks first. “Then we need a place to throw down."  

“Take a left up ahead! There’s a—” Abby gasps when a glowing spectral knife embeds in the crate directly in front of her, forcing her to arch backward like she’s playing a game of sprint-limbo, boots skidding across the cement floor. It’s a close miss. Too close. 

“Observation tower!” Holtz fills in, pointing with her flashlight to a two-story structure rising out of the gloom to their left. “Lots of open ground! Passed it trying to find you guys!”

It takes a few more hairpin turns at a breakneck speed with Holtz leading the pack before the four women stumble into the open area at the base of the tower. There’s no time for assessment. No time to catch their breaths. Action and reaction control the moment. 

“Back to back! Don’t let them get between us!” Abby’s command comes out hard and sharp. The team obeys wordlessly, already knowing the drill.

“Setting phasers from stun to kill,” Holtz said, flipping a red switch on her LCD arm display before deploying her twin pistols. Her pack whirs loudly like a turbine, the red glow of the cyclotron intensifying along with the stretch of the engineer’s smile. Beside and behind, three other packs similarly charge.

Weapons primed and hot, the four wait for the inevitable. It was the breath before the storm. The slow squeezing of a trigger. The shifting of stances. The rolling of shoulders. The absence of sound save for the roar of a pulse. As the entities flow into the open ground, a standoff ensues for another millisecond, living and dead squaring off, before a growl of, “Light ‘em up!” from Abby tips the balance.

Four sets of proton streams turn the darkness into daylight. There was no delicate dance of guiding entities into traps. Merely the carnal reflex of shoot, deionize, shoot, deionize, shoot. 

Something snakes around Abby’s leg, pulling her off her feet. Body connecting sharply with concrete, she doesn’t have time to scream. Dragged away, she twists and shoots the ghostly pirate ready to drop his axe into her chest and shoots the entity hauling her closer. Barely regaining her feet, she’s rushed by four indigo pirates. One spins like a top and drops, taken out by Patty. The other explodes, courtesy of Holtz. The third erupts in a spray of ecto-goo, and the fourth follows suit a second later, Abby’s Jaw Breaker steaming.

The malevolent entities overtake the open ground by sheer number, spilling around the Ghostbusters in an endless tumble. The women are forced to fan out, Erin running for Abby while Holtz and Patty, still back-to-back, continue to fire. They shoot to kill, but Class Six vapors are tenacious. Full deionization only comes after two or three hits from their proton streams.

Switching guns, Erin pumps her shotgun one-handed and begins a heavier assault. Firing once, the kickback digging into her shoulder, two ghostly pirates disintegrate in a puff of energy. Another two fall from the shockwave and are taken out by Patty’s Chipper.

“You got this?” Erin shouts at Abby, knowing full-well the scientist was a firecracker on the field once gloves came off. Abby’s answer comes when she shoots a pirate directly in the face only to twist around and sink her Jaw Breaker into another, rendering half of him goo.

Turning to survey the ensuing battle, Erin can barely get a read on her teammates. The ‘busters are a maelstrom made flesh, human-born tempests. This was their business and their calling, almost four years of practice honing them into a well-oiled machine.

Holtzmann, the closest to her, breaks away from Patty and pivots, firing her affectionately named Wicked Sister pistols like she’s single-handedly defending the Alamo. The grin on her face looks like a latex mask, too wide and manic to be real. Rotate and fire. Dodge and shoot. Over and over and over until the engineer is a blur highlighted by the flash-bomb eruption of Abby’s Jaw Breaker directly behind Erin and the white-hot glow of Patty’s Chipper.

Abby swings and ducks like a brawler, blue and white proton energy carving chunks out of her opponents. Sweat dampens her brow, her hair pulling free from her ponytail.

Patty rotates between blasting entities with her proton gun and sucking them into her Chipper. Face set in a glowering scowl, she mows through specters with machine-like efficiency, ending the vapors downed by Holtz and Abby. Beneath her feet, ecto-mist and deionized entities litter the floor, swirling around their ankles like cheap Halloween fog.

When a specter dives off the top of a forklift with a wild cry, presumably to tackle Abby directly below, Erin switches her shotgun back to proton stream and suspending the entity in a beam of red and white long enough for Patty to redirect her Chipper and drag him screaming to his second death. Erin’s shoulder begins to ache from the recoil of her gun, but she can’t stop firing. Won’t stop. There were still too many ghosts. Every time she dropped one two more took its place. It was never-ending.

“On your left!” Holtzmann shouts, spotting a pirate with a dagger in his teeth approaching Erin in her blind spot. Her Wicked Sisters blaze to life, taking the entity Erin pivots away from with milliseconds to spare, white-hot protons singing her jumpsuit.

No doubt the engineer would have added a quip about her own sharp shooting had the look on Erin’s face not dampened her mirth. More specters pour in behind them in a blind charge, pitting four against one. Not good odds. Erin checks her shotgun and swears. Two rounds left. Terrible odds.

Then something clicks in her mind, an idea bright and daring and maybe just crazy enough to work. “Sprinklers!” she shouts over the cacophony.

“You’re thinking about watering the law now?!” Holtzmann laughs, shooting an entity in the stomach and sending him flying.

“No!” Erin points into the darkness above. “The building’s sprinklers. I need them on!”

“Tall order, little lady!” Holtz fights back a curse. Her pistols were starting to overheat. If she kept pushing her weaponry, the proton stream would burn through her buffering system. Not a good day, by anyone’s standards. Big poof. “Kind of pressed here!”

“Got two more rounds, so I’ll cover you.”

“Packs aren’t waterproof, Erin.”

“Just get them on!”

Holstering her Wicked Sisters, Holtzmann digs an unused net-ball from her jumpsuit and activates it. The trap was useless in a fight like this, but they did have a tendency to go bang if subjected to high levels of heat. Armed with this knowledge—something Holtzmann neglected to share with her friends—she tosses the ball as high as she can into the air and takes aim. Say something for Jillian Holtzmann: say she was a sharp shot.

Her proton stream doesn’t hit the ball dead on. She doesn’t need it too. There’s enough heat-energy pulsing next to the silver sphere it overloads and erupts in a way only something with tiny nuclear parts could. Suddenly there’s a small sun above everyone’s heads, and the sprinklers deploy.

Warmth rains from above in misty sheets, soaking everything. Erin knows the countdown has begun. Water plus electronic meant death by electrocution or pack malfunction. But the alternative wasn't any better. The physicist hastily loads her last two rounds into her shotgun and takes a quick survey of the mayhem. Abby and Patty have obviously noticed the sprinklers, looking around in stunned shock as water plasters their hair to their faces and darkens their jumpsuits. The entities have noticed too, but they pause for nothing.

Shaking water from her eyes, Erin zeroes in on a particularly thick mass of ragged, ecto-decaying pirates and does a final lightning-fast calculation. If this didn’t work, she’d single-handedly doomed her team. _Wouldn’t be the first time_ , she thinks darkly.

“Holtz, grab your knees!”

Holtzmann immediately obeys and bends in half. The engineer feels something settle on her proton pack—Erin’s shotgun no doubt—a half-second before a deafening boom absorbs the ambient noise of the warehouse. It was like a canon in her ears, the shockwave enough to throw both women off kilter. There’s a flash and a secondary bang followed immediately by a freezing wave of isotopic-scented air. 

Holtzmann feels Erin’s gun lift free and stands slowly in dumbfounded wonderment. Had she not witnessed it firsthand, the blonde would never have believed it. The ghosts were gone. Not simply deionized. Gone. Disappeared. Poofed without a trace save for their leftover energy. Erin cries for Abby and Patty to hit the deck before a second canon blast splits the air exactly one hundred and eighty degrees in the other direction. 

Salt erupts from Erin’s gun like meteorite dust, sailing through the sheets of water and pelting the charging entities who immediately dissolve into smoke. The kickback alone wrenches her shoulder enough Erin fears the joint will dislocate, but she rolls with the momentum, already used to the power of her weapon.

She waits with baited breath to see if her frenzied idea would hold water…literally. And to her immense jubilation, it does.

In a cascading domino effect, the skirmish ends with all the finality of a short-lived firework, ghostly pirates winking out of existence like snuffed candles, reverting back into an energy too unstable to last in this realm. Silence swoops back in, save for the hiss of the sprinklers and labored panting of four women standing at the center of the melee.

“Holy…shit,” Erin exhale before she whoops in sudden excitement. “Yes! It worked!”

“That was insane! Incredible! What the hell did you _do_?” Holtz rushes her partner, scooping her into a wet hug and spinning her around. She seals the celebration with a hard kiss. Only once they break apart and Erin is able to catch her breath and stop giggling can she explain while Holtz hastily digs out plastic covers for their soaked packs. Patty and Abby join the two, wearing similar expressions of shock.

“Saltwater,” Erin said, trying not to stumble in her excited deduction. “We’ve been testing how psychokinetic energy and isotopic ionization reacts with natural elements, and since we’ve theorized salt has the potential to dampen spiritual energy…”

“Are you telling us you used the sprinklers to create a massive holy water super soaker?” If Holtz smiled any wider the skin at the corner of her lips would split. She grabs Erin again and presses a kiss to against her forehead. “I love that big brain of yours!”

“Holy water?” Erin laughs, pushing her girlfriend back. “Really?”

“What? That’s basically what it is. Salty water someone mutters an incantation over.”

“Priest, Holtzy,” Patty corrects, looking none-too-pleased with her current soaked state. “And they bless the water, not mutter incantations over it.”

“Same difference."

“You decided to test that theory _tonight_?” Abby shakes while she speaks, adrenaline slow to leave her veins.

“Hey, I wasn’t the one who put salt round in my cartridge,” Erin said, wiping water out of her eyes. Thankfully the sprinklers seem to have emptied their fill, petering out until only a steady drip slip from the heads. “Either way, we had nothing to lose.”

“Except our lives,” Patty mumbles. “And a dry pair of clothes.”

“And your theory—“ 

“Did what I thought it would had we been able to test it in a controlled environment and not in the middle of a bust,” Abby finishes shortly. She can’t help but catch a brief look of hurt flicker across Erin’s face and sighs. “I’m sorry. What you did was awesome, I’m just rattled. Yes, the salt unraveled their energy signature and sent them back to their origin point. I’m glad we figured out that worked. Yay scientific breakthroughs.”

“We don’t know if it sent them back,” Erin cautions.

“Well, they’re gone.” Abby throws out her arms to emphasize her point. “Which is perfectly dandy with me.”

“I still want to run the numbers…”

“Guys, guys, guys,” Holtzmann interrupts, clapping Erin and Abby on the shoulder. “We’re missing the point here. We kicked serious pirate _ass_ tonight! _Come on!_  We just moonwalked through it like it was _nothing_.”

“Speak for yourself,” Abby mutters, trying and failing to shake ectoplasm from her Jaw Breaker and only serving to spatter her jumpsuit with the sticky substance. “That was terrifying. We could have died. I’m actually surprised we survived.”

“Yes to all of the above, _but we totally won this boss fight_! Time to level up and party!” Holtz punctuates her declaration by rotating her hips in a tight grind that has Erin wondering, again, if her girlfriend had taken more exotic courses at the supposed Danish Art school she attended prior to MIT. “Work can wait. We’re gonna clean up, go get some dry clothes on, and then head to Baker Street for shots and food!”

“I’m liking the sound of that,” Patty grunts, holstering her proton gun and giving Holtz a wet high-five when the engineer whoops and stretches out her hand. “Bustin’ might make me feel good, but this bitch is hungry as—“

Movement in Erin’s periphery causes her to turn.

It happened between heartbeats. A lone figure emerges from a crate, running hard. In his hand dangles a wicked looking axe that rips free with a hard over-handed throw. One second Erin's diving in a blind grab to keep the weapon from sinking into Patty’s chest and the next her fingers are curling around the spectral object, halting its trajectory.

Contact.

Erin can’t hear her teammates’ startled exclamations, Patty’s loudest of all, over the tidal roar in her ears. Her body has been submerged in ice water, every neuron screaming in a single loud shriek. It’s like catching the tail-end of a lightning bolt and being unable to let go, dragged along for the ride. Erin’s on fire and freezing at the same time, frozen in place but also fluid as liquid. That fluidity allows her to spin and launch the axe back at its owner with a throw that would have made Babe Ruth jealous. The axe takes the specter square in the chest, dropping him.

The whole incident took less than five seconds.

In the awestruck silence, Erin can’t do a lot of things. Can’t catch her breath. Can’t stop shaking. Can’t focus on the visually enhanced world around her. Can’t stop feeling a flood of endorphins hit her bloodstream like heroin. She’s soaring and floating and _laughing_ in equal parts disbelief and joy. The sound is strange in her ears, distant, and just a smidge unhinged.

“Holy fuck.” Erin pants in like she’d been denied air for hours, hands digging into the fabric of Patty’s jumpsuit just to keep her stable. Was she floating? It felt like her body was lighter than air. “ _Holy…fuck!_ ”

“Baby girl,” Patty said, face inches from the brunette. “What the hell did you just do?”

“I—I—I just…it was—holy _Jesus_ —“ is all Erin can get out, struggling to keep her tongue and thoughts on course.

“She grabbed the axe out of the air!” Holtz whoops. “Did you see that?! She just reached out and _grabbed it_!” Reaching beyond Patty, Holtz takes Erin’s face in her hands, bringing their foreheads together. “That was the sickest thing I’ve ever seen. How did you do it? Come on, don’t hold back the deets!”

“Holtzmann!” Abby snaps, shoving the engineer away. “For fucks sake, can’t you see something’s wrong?”

Erin, for her part, couldn’t necessarily say what was happening felt _wrong_. It was the farthest thing from wrong. For once, something felt _right_ , like her entire being was a bike chain that finally found the right gear.  

“Erin, honey, look at me,” Abby said, taking Holtz’s place and guiding the physicist’s gaze onto her own. Erin shook from head to heel so severely it was a wonder she could remain standing. “God, your pupils are super retracted. Can you even see me?”

“Yeah.” The answer is barely a breath across Erin’s teeth, pushed out with jittery effort. She has to keep herself from bouncing from foot to foot.

“Patty, I need your fingers. Can you take her pulse?” Abby flips her wrist over and sets her digital watch, all thoughts of dry clothes and food shoved from her mind.

“Come here, String-bean.” Patty’s thick fingers find the pulsing artery just under Erin’s jaw and rest there. Her eyes widen half a second later and she jerks away. “How are you not dead?”

The question brings all three women to an abrupt standstill. Even Holtz stops rocking, nervousness replacing excitement.

"Patty?”

“Her heart’s pumping like a hummingbird on crack. Erin, baby, you need to sit down before that damn muscle explodes.”

Not exactly willing to take Patty’s word on it, Abby feels for a pulse and snatches her hand back, alarmed beyond reason. Not only was Erin’s heart hammering a mile a minute, her skin was cold where it should have been flushed with heat. “Holy shit, she’s not kidding. We need to get you to a hospital.”

“I feel fine. Really. Never better. Totally okay,” Erin says in the same rushed tangle as before, shaking her head and stepping back, hands raised. The world was starting to right itself again, the screeching high mellowing into a constant buzz. A grin splits Erin’s lips, followed by a giggle bubbling from her chest like carbonation. “Really, really fine. Like, better than fine. Amazing.”

“Totally not amazing, Erin,” Abby scowls. “Your heart’s going to explode if you don’t get it to slow down.”

“I…” Erin succumbs to another bout of giggles and flexes her hands. _God_ , she felt good. She was the physical manifestation of a storm. Wind howled in her veins. Thunder crackled and roared across her skin. Lightning sang in her veins. Erin twists around, looking for something she can’t exactly place until it hits her. Her jitteriness is due to lack of motion. Erin wants to run, to move, to be in action and remain there.

“I can’t describe it,” she husks, giggles, rocks back and forth. “This is incredible.”

“Like you’ve got Redbull in your veins?” Holtz suggest.

“Yeah!” Erin brightens, her smile wide and dazzling.

“I get the same way when I’m on a bender and brew my coffee with Redbull,” Holtz says over to a perplexed and worried Patty. The taller woman gives her a look of, ‘If I didn’t hear it from your mouth I wouldn’t believe it…but this is you we’re talking about.’.

“Guys, I’m gonna run.”

All three women turn simultaneously.

“What?” Abby breaks the silence first, eyebrows nesting in her hairline.

Erin’s vibrating. Bouncing. Shaking. Shivering. Alive in a way she couldn’t even fathom. Was it hot in there? She was hot, she thinks. Or too cold? Either way, sweat leaves trails down the slope of her back. “I want to run. Sorry. Need to run.”

“Runnin’s the last thing you need right now,” Patty warns.

“Sorry, nope, gotta do this.”

And just like that, Erin strips off her pack, secures the sleeves of her coveralls around her waist—revealing the smooth planes of her stomach and gentle swell of her breasts secured under a black sports bra—and bolts towards the warehouse doors faster than anyone had ever seen her move.

"Holy shit!” Holtzmann manages to sputter before Abby’s cry of, “Oh my god, Erin! What the hell?” cuts her off. But Abby might as well have been shouting into the wind for all the good it did her. The brunette’s retreating silhouette doesn’t slow in the slightest, nor does Erin turn on a flashlight, effectively running blind.

The scientist throws up her hands. “Goddamnit! Come on!”

Outside, Erin was already making quick work of devouring the growing distance between herself and her friends. Throwing their equipment hastily into the back of Ecto-1, Abby swings into the driver’s seat—stealing it out from under Holtzmann—and floors the gas.   


	3. Runner

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all! Sorry for the late update. Things have been a bit up and down recently (as many of you following me on tumblr might already know). With the holiday season pretty much at my front door, updates might only happen once a month until after December. I'd like it to be twice a month, but if I can at least get one chapter done and posted I'll be a happy writer. 
> 
> As always, comments and kudos give me life. Come bug me on my tumblr anytime (seriously, come bug me).

“Man! String-bean can _move_!” Patty whoops out the window, salty wharf air swirling humidly around the cabin of Ecto-1. The hearse settles alongside the sprinting brunette, tires thumping loudly against the uneven wooden slats. They were moving slow enough by vehicle standards seat belts weren’t exactly necessary, though any attentive police officer would disagree. “How fast is she going?”

Holtzmann pops up between the seats like a blonde jack-in-the-box and whistles low. “Clocking at a steady 20 mph. Gonna light a friction fire at this rate!”

"She’s seven miles slower than Usain Bolt!” Patty laughs, slapping the side of the car with the flat of her palm before shouting, “You got some legs, Gilbert!”

“Hey, Erin!” Holtz shifts back into her seat and leans out the back passenger window, hair rustling in the salty breeze. She and Patty both look like over-eager hounds, barking at passers-by. “How you feel about joining the women’s track team for the summer Olympics? I volunteer to be the coach. We’ll get to work first thing in the morning.”

“Both of you, this is serious!” Abby snaps, adjusting her death-grip on the steering wheel. She has to quickly alternate between watching her best friend run full-tilt down a dark stretch of wharf and keeping her eyes on the road. Very soon the hearse would leave the waterfront and coast into typical New York gridlock, and Erin was showing no sign of slowing, posing quite a few problems. Namely how they were going to keep up with her.

“Cannot pass this up,” Abby hears Holtz snigger. From the front of her jumpsuit, the blonde pulls out her phone and hits record. “Graceful as a prancing gazelle,” Holtz begins in a ridiculously exaggerated British accent, “we see the majestic Gilbert frolicking in her natural environment. See how she moves effortlessly in her purposeful sprint. Free from the threat of natural predators, the Gilbert glides through her environment, seeking a place to sleep and possibly mate.”

The last line has Patty sputtering with laughter so much so she bends in half over the door. Erin grins, breaking her focused gaze to throw Holtz a very uncharacteristic wink. It practically sets the engineer on fire.

“Abby!” she shouts, hardly out of breath despite consistently maintaining a speed far beyond her normal capacity. “Remind me why I didn’t take track in high school?”

“Because you’re a sane person and hate running!”

“But this is so fun!”

“Not from my end it isn’t! You need to stop before your heart actually explodes!”

“At least the vehicle’s appropriate in the event that happens,” Holtz supplies with a wiry grin.

“You’re not helping!” Abby barks, glaring at the grinning blonde through the rearview mirror.

Holtzmann raises her hands in mock surrender. Yes, logic demanded she should have been as worried as Abby, but when had cut-and-dry logic really been a Holtzmann vice? Something happened back in the warehouse, and now Erin was doing her best impression of the Flash down a New York peer. Holtzmann couldn’t help but be excited. How often did something like this happen outside the realm of comic books?

“Stop worrying, Abby! If it hasn’t done it by now, I’m pretty sure my heart will be fine,” Erin calls back.

“Oh my god, that’s not how we deduce scientifically! We—shit _watch out for the car_!”

Abby slams the breaks, anticipating Erin to run head-first into a particularly well camouflaged parked car directly in her path. Losing momentum and dropping back, the three women watch the physicist nimbly jump and slide across the vehicle's hood like she’s part of a stunt team, landing smoothly on the other side.

“Dude! You Dukes of Hazard that thing, baby!” Patty cheers loudly after the hearse realigns with Erin. Holtz hasn’t completely recovered, mouth hanging ajar. Was this really her Erin?

“At this rate, I’m going to beat you all back to the firehouse,” Erin laughs, arms pumping hard at her sides, hair swept back off her face.  

“This isn’t a race!” Abby shouts back.

“Why? Afraid you’ll lose?” 

It was hard to tell whether it was the genuinely mischievous smile or the playful tone of Erin’s voice that broke Abby, but somehow the challenge lessens the creases wrinkling her brow and brings her shoulders back down from where they were kissing her earlobes. She snorts, rolling green eyes in the process. “From where I’m sitting, I’m holding back a hundred and fifty horsepower whereas you only have those skinny legs of yours. I’m afraid you’d lose that bet.”

“And from where I’m standing,” Erin grins back, “you’re about to hit a solid wall of traffic unless Holtz figured out how to get Ecto to fly.”

“Still working on those schematics!” Holtzmann says, tapping the side of her head for emphasis.

“Speedy’s got a point,” Patty admits, pointing to the quickly approaching intersection and the stopped cars lining the street.

Abby growls something unpleasant under her breath and presses the brake at the wharf entrance, easing as gently as possible into traffic. It earns her a few disgruntled honks, which she appropriately shows her thanks for with a raised middle finger. The hearse comes to a squeaky brake stop behind a UPS truck, effectively ending their “race”. Abby rests her forehead against the steering wheel, eyes closed, resigning herself to the molasses trudge ahead.

“She hasn’t stopped, has she?”

“Nope,” Holtzmann answers, popping the ‘p’ as she does, arm out the window and left foot resting on the armrest between Patty and Abby.

“Anyone wanna volunteer to get out and follow our resident cheetah?”

“You think my happy ass can move that fast?” Patty laughs, a little strain coloring her voice. She rubs absently at the back of her neck, feeling the muscles tightening. “Nah man, I’ve done my running for the day.”

“Wonderful,” Abby moans, releasing the brake and coasting toward a few dozen feet before stopping again. This was already shaping up to be a long night.

 

* * *

 

Part of Erin knew she shouldn’t have toyed with her friends. All things considered, this _was_ a serious matter, but god when was the last time she felt this good? The giggles and the joking just came out all by themselves like she was built to laugh rather than constantly stress. It was more than a little refreshing. For the first time, Erin actually felt like she could _breathe_.

If water could take conscious form it would look something like a tall, brunette woman weaving her way through New York with slippery ease, never touching a soul. Never slowing. Her motions are seamless. It was like she’d been coated in Teflon, juiced with almost a week’s worth of caffeine. Colors are more vivid. Sounds clearer. Smells more complex. Erin’s mind processed all this in a lightning fast blur that bleeds into physical reflex.

A car swings out of a dark parking garage ahead, tires chirping, headlights bright against the night. Erin can see the obstruction it’s about to make in slow-motion, but her mind was already racing through the steps which would carry her around the obstacle just like it had with the car on the wharf.

_Pivot to the left, dodge a stroller, right shoulder down to compensate for trajectory and balance._

She does with ease.

 _J_ _ump and grab crosswalk pole._ _Swing forty-five degrees._ Since when had she become a free-runner? _Push off…now._

Erin’s airborne, poised in flight, moving fast enough the people around her look like statues.

_One foot on the car hood. The other chambered to absorb decent impact. Bend knee. Push off…now. Contact._

She lands on her left foot with pinpoint accuracy, steady as a maple tree.

 _Man shouting angrily…inconsequential. Keep running_.   

It had been so easy.

All too soon, however, her journey comes to an end at the firehouse. As expected, the red and white hearse was nowhere to be found, which posed a problem. Erin didn’t have a spare set of keys. Abby usually carried them—clipped to her bra—but Erin almost never carried any for fear of losing them again during a bust. So what to do?

Erin paces back and forth, fingers drumming a fast tattoo against her thighs. She needed to get inside. Why that was she couldn’t exactly say, but habit dictated she needed to get into the firehouse because the urge to keep moving was becoming unbearable. She chafed, straining against inactivity like a dog pulling against its chain. She wanted to run. Jump. Soar.

_Climb._

The physicist pauses for a brief moment, eyes leveling on something unseen before her face breaks out into a wide smile. She scrambles around the firehouse to the tight alley separating it from the adjacent building and looks up into the webbing of steel bolted to the brick. The fire escape. It would take her to the roof. The roof had a door. The door would get her inside where she could do…well…do whatever else came next.

Practically buoyant with excitement, Erin does a few quick passes under the fire escape and climbs atop the nearest dumpster. Her outstretched fingers barely catch the lowest rung. Dangling by her hands, Erin has to swing herself a few times to build up enough momentum to grab the rung above her. Hand-over-hand, she defies all the previously conceived ideas about her own strength and fear of heights and climbs. The metal is cold and damp in her grip, ensuring her boots slip more than once until she vaults over the railing and starts up the stairs two at a time.

Four stories above the ground, New York spreads out around her. The marvel of the city that never sleeps hasn’t lost its charm. Erin takes a moment to suck in a deep breath through her nose, but her nostalgia trip comes to an end when the roof door doesn't budge when pulled. Shocker of shockers, Patty or Abby must have bolted it at some point.

Wonderful. Now what?

It took Erin a moment to gather her thoughts into a cohesive unit. By the time she did, the brunette was beginning to seriously contemplate just how much speed she would need to successfully jump from her roof to the adjacent building’s ledge when she heard the familiar rumble of an engine and squeaky breaks in the alley below. A quick glance over the edge confirmed the appearance of a white and red hearse.

_Plan back in action!_

The three emerging ‘busters had just enough time to register the squeal of rubber boots sliding against damp metal before something solid landed on top of Ecto-1 with enough force to flex the shocks. Hard.

“Hey guys! You made it!” Erin beams, standing tall, a triumphant smile showing the stretch of her teeth.

“For fuck’s sake!” Abby shouts in alarm after recovering from Erin's sudden appearance. “What is wrong with you?! That’s a nuke you’re standing on!”

Glancing down at the silver canisters beneath her boots, Erin’s brow creases with lightning-fast calculations before her grin returns, rivaling anything Holtz could conjure. “Guess that means I’m making an explosive entrance, huh!” She makes finger guns at Abby who looks on the verge of strangling her best friend.

Holtzmann, last out of the car, cackles from where she leans against the back door. 

“Christ on a cracker, baby, this isn’t the time,” Patty groans. In the twenty or so minutes it had taken the rest of the Ghostbusters to rendezvous with their rogue comrade the historian had lost a fair amount of color. She stared at the world through squinted vision, face set in a pinched scowl.

“Looking good there, Spider Man,” Holtz winks, unable to pull her eyes away from the smooth planes of her girlfriend’s exposed stomach or the infectious twinkle in her blue eyes when the taller woman jumps down and lands in front of her.          

“I feel incredible!” She wraps Holtzmann in a tight hug and spins the smaller woman around like she weighed nothing. They break apart, all giggles—forehead to forehead—only for Erin to suddenly pull Holtz in for a kiss that was likely to leave both their lips bruised by morning.

Shocked by the uncharacteristic intensity of Erin’s embrace, it takes Holtz’s brain a second to register before she slides up against her girlfriend like the two were matching puzzle pieces, calloused hands cupping the physicist’s delicate jawline. She deepens the kiss, savoring the taste and a strange tingle left dancing across the slippery muscle.  

“All right, all right, enough of that shit!” Abby snaps, stepping between the two. Erin lets out an indignant huff while Holtz makes grasping motions at the brunette over Abby’s arms. “Both of you get inside. We need to figure out what the hell’s going on with Flo Jo over here, and the last thing I want is to have to spray you two with a hose. Inside. Now.”

Three against one, Erin finds herself herded into the firehouse and deposited into a chair in the kitchen. She takes to sitting still like a wound jack-in-the-box, waiting for the spring inside to release. Sixty seconds later her leg’s bouncing, signaling the end of her forced placidity. Then she’s standing and pacing along the counter, hands tucked into her armpits.

“Erin, sit down, please,” Abby begs.

“I can’t.”

“You can. It’s called putting your butt in a chair and staying there.”

"Nope, can’t. Think better when I move,” Erin shakes her head, continuing to pace the length of the room.

“I can think of a few things we could do to burn off that extra energy,” Holtz winks, spinning a chair around and straddling it, arms crossed over the tall back.

“Oh sure and have sparky’s heart explode in the process,” Patty snorts, taking a seat with ginger care. “I know death by orgasm might be a kink of yours but leave Erin out of this”

“They used to call me ‘lady killer’ back in grad school,” the engineer explains smugly, resting her chin on top of her forearms. She keeps Erin in her periphery, choosing not to draw attention to the fact the brunette had slipped away and was attempting to climb the fireman’s pole in the other room. Holtz has to bite her tongue to keep her face as neutral as possible. This was like Christmas morning.

“I’m sure that’s on account of you putting too many pretty women in the ground cause of your crazy ass. I’m nixing any fucking between the two of you until we figure out why our resident physicist can suddenly catch ghost weapons and run faster than most track stars.”

“You got a chastity belt on hand?” Holtz asked, the twinkle of mischief growing brighter in her eyes.

“Yeah, it’s called knocking you unconscious with my fist. Can’t fuck if you’re not awake.”

“Explain wet dreams then.”

“Do we even have the equipment to test for any of this?” Abby interrupts before Holtz could carry the conversation further, hitching her hip against the counter. Glasses perched atop her head, she rubs her face with her hands.

“Ya’ll the scientists here!” Patty throws up her arms. “I thought you’d have this under control.”

“Yeah, well, in case you haven’t noticed, we normally don’t just start grabbing ecto-objects out of thin air and then pull a Flash through New York!”

“Yelling at me ain’t gonna solve anything."

“I know. I know,” Abby mutters from behind the muffle of her hands. She takes a minute to gather her thoughts and stamp down her frazzled nerves before continuing. “This is just…beyond me.”

Which wasn’t an exaggeration. They were scientists, yes, but their field of expertise extended to the paranormal and how to build nuclear backpacks and proton weapons. Whatever was happening to Erin was definitely paranormal, but it had a very physical effect on the woman, and that’s where the paths of understanding split.

“You seriously have no idea what to do, do you?”

“I’ve got an old EKG machine upstairs we could hook her up to,” Holtz suggests.

 

Patty doesn’t wait for further explanation, plowing forward with what came next. “We treat this like an overdose,” she said, drawing on her MTA training. “Get String-bean to sit still long enough to get her pulse, get her to drink some water, and get that skinny ass of her into a—“

A crash from the other room has two out of the three women scrambling to their feet. Only Holtz remains seated. When a secondary, delayed crash shakes the floor—punctuated by a startled squawk—it’s all Holtz can do to keep herself seated as she dissolves into hysterical laughter.

In her attempt to climb the fireman’s pole, Erin miscalculated two very important variables. One: her sweaty palms. Two: her damp boots. Halfway up the brass pole, she’d lost her grip, couldn’t stabilize herself, and wound up falling atop one of Patty’s bookshelves. Teetering there like a startled cat, the physicist’s downward momentum ensured the bookcase toppled to the ground in a spectacular spray of books, papers, and binders that spanned two desks and half the waiting room floor.

“You okay out there, Spider-Gwen?” Holtz calls, rubbing tears from her eyes.

Erin pops up in the middle of the rubble like a startled meerkat, unhurt but jittery. “Fine! Just—just fine. I’ll uh…umm…” She looks around helplessly, not sure where to settle her eyes. “Yikes. Okay, so that was an accident. But, umm, this looks bad, I know, so I’ll just pick these things up and—“

It doesn’t take a genius to see the barely contained fury turning Patty’s eyes into hard chips of flint. She points to the stairs. “Upstairs. Now.”

Seeing her friend flirting with premeditated murder, Abby grabs Erin and forcibly shoves her upstairs, Holtzmann trailing behind.

The next hour rolls by in a blur. Doing their best but running off of limited knowledge, Abby and Holtz attempt to record what was happening to Erin, but keeping the juiced woman still for longer than half a minute proves impossible. Erin wouldn’t sit still, and talking to her was like flipping TV channels at light speed. Even Holtzmann has trouble keeping up, though out of the three of them she was having the most fun.

It wasn’t until Abby had her best friend practically pinned on the small loveseat in Holtzmann’s lab that Erin’s concentration finally found traction, and she rushes to her whiteboard.

“Oh my god! How did I miss that?!” she shouts to no one in particular, hands raking through her hair. Stepping back, marker in hand, Erin double-checked her numbers before diving in with reckless abandon.

“I think we lost her,” Holtzmann chuckles from her seat atop her workbench, twirling a wrench between her fingers like it’s a baton.

“Maybe that’s a good thing,” Abby sighs. “We’re not going to get a clear answer from her until she settles down.”

“Kind of like having two of me here.”

“God, the world would burn to the ground if there were two of you.”

“Oh ye of so little faith.”

"Common sense outweighs faith,” Abby said and stands, stretching her sore back. “Think you can keep an eye on sparky while I check to see if Patty’s hired a hitman out of retaliation?”

Holtz fires off a salute. “You can count on me, Capitaine.”

Somehow, Abby’s not reassured, but it’s all she has at the moment. Descending the stairs, the scientist finds the greater majority of the mess Erin made cleaned—books stacked neatly to one side and binders to another—but there were still quite a few papers strewn like tree dandruff across the floor. Abby searches for the historian and finds her slumped on the couch, head back and eyes closed.

“You doing okay?”

Patty looks up from where she’d deposited herself, face pinched with pain. “Starting to sport a nasty migraine."

Without a word, Abby heads to a kitchen and grabs an ice pack along with a bottle of Advil and wordlessly hands them over. Nodding her thanks, Patty gently sets the pack against her face, sucking in through her teeth when the cold compress touches the cut above her eyebrow. Judging by how it felt, the skin was already starting to swell.

“Might want to get that looked at,” Abby suggests, catching sight of the bump.

Patty shakes the bottle of painkillers in response. “Got these, so I’m fine.”

Abby nods, sliding down onto the couch beside her friend with a gusty sigh. It felt like a lifetime since last she sat down. Chasing Erin around was like trying to herd cats. Or toddlers. Or toddler cats. “I’m sorry. BetweenErin and all the shit that happened tonight, you kind of got lost in the mayhem. You sure you don’t want to head to the twenty-four-hour clinic and have that bump looked at?”

“Hell yeah this has been a crazy night, but nah, I’ve had worse bumps than this,” Patty half-smiles, leaning forward and resting her elbows on her knees, ice pack still in place. “I think I’m just going to drag my tired ass home and get some sleep.” Abby pulls a face which Patty catches in her periphery and puts up a hand to forestall any objections. “I ain’t that hurt, Abs. Just sore and tired. Not as young as I used to be.”

“That’s fair,” the scientist relents, risking a wiry smile. “You are the matriarch of the group, after all.”

Patty narrows her eyes at the other woman who wisely slides out of range. “I’m gonna take that as you calling me a queen rather than taking a crack at my age.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

Abby yelps when Patty’s hand cracks smartly against her shoulder. Clearly, she hadn’t scooted far enough away but can’t help but laugh. The taller woman mutters something dark under her breath and stands, wincing at the soreness already settling in.

“Sure you don’t want to stay? You’re moving like one of those toy soldiers you see in the window at F.A.O Schwarz.”

“Let’s see your happy ass get slammed into a steel crate and see if you walk a bit stiff,” the historian fires back, grimacing as she stretches. “And thanks for the offer, but no. I want a hot bath and some quiet time. You should head home, too.”

Abby flops back onto the cushions, feeling the stretch of her own aches. Brawling ghosts always left her sore and grumpy. “Someone has to be the responsible scientist and keep an eye on tweedle-dee and tweedle-dum. I’ll crash upstairs in the living room. Don’t worry.”

“That’s like telling a dog not to shit. I always worry about you three. Without me here to keep you all sane…”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ve heard this all before,” Abby rolls her eyes, hailing a cab for the historian who takes to leaning against a street sign in an attempt to combat her headache. “Erin’s the rule junkie and you’re the voice of reason. I get it. Go home and get some sleep. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

The two bid each other good night, and Abby trudges back inside, dead-bolting the door behind her. Moving wearily to the kitchen, she brews herself a cup of tea before beginning her ascent to the third floor where her overnight room and the ‘busters quintessential living room reside. On her way up, she pauses at the entrance to Holtzmann’s lab. Erin is flitting—actually flitting—between two large whiteboards, black marker a squeaky blur. Abby can’t make out the equations from this distance—her eyes, even with glasses, weren’t that strong—but she can tell its importance by how frantic Erin moves. Every so many steps the brunette breaks into a surprised or joyful laugh.

“You two take it easy, okay?” Abby calls into the room, prompting Holtzmann to lift her head up from where she hangs upside down on a small loveseat.

“When have we ever done anything the easy way? Go hard or go home!” the blonde replies, punching the air for emphasis.

“Says the woman who chooses to ride a pole down to the first floor rather than descend stairs.”

“Touché,” Holtz concedes before swinging upright. How that didn’t make her dizzy was beyond Abby. “We will be our absolute normal selves then, save for Erin, who’s currently trying to break quantum time theory. How’s that coming along, jitterbug?”

Erin, who had yet to notice the discussion taking place behind her, makes a vague gesture that says and answers nothing.

“Any visible changes?” Abby said, closely watching her friend over the rim of her steaming mug. If she couldn’t be the worried friend she’d be the observant scientist.

"Can’t say there has been, chief.”

“Great. Guess we’ll just have to ride this out and come at it in the morning. Make sure she doesn’t break herself in the process. I’ll be upstairs if you need me.”

Holtzmann waves to Abby who disappears into the hallway before returning her attention back to her partner. Erin hadn’t taken a break since coming upstairs, flying through advanced calculations that had previously stumped her like a knife through rice paper. It was almost dizzying watching her work.

Glancing at her wristwatch, Holtzmann decides to use the extra time in the lab to sort out their water-logged packs and fix the damage Erin’s sprinkler escapades likely caused. She loses herself in the cathartic task of disassembly, time slipping away unnoticed, until the clatter of pens hitting the floor and the sharp squeal of desk legs scooting across the tiles jerks her back into the here and now.

"Erin?”

The physicist sags heavily against her desk, one arm propping her up like a wobbly kickstand while the other shakily sweeps her hair out of her face. It was a good thing she’d managed to brace herself otherwise there was a very good chance she’d be a puddle on the floor. Holtz immediately moves to her side, marking the time as she does. 2:45am. Five hours since Erin touched the ecto-object.

“You okay, jitterbug?”

“Yeah,” comes a tired and slightly confused replay. Erin gladly leans against the shorter woman, thankful for the added support.

A knowing smile barely curls the edges of Holtzmann’s lips. “Lost the juice to your bug-juice, did we?” 

“I don’t…even know what that means?” Erin squints at her girlfriend and has to blink so there’s only one Holtzmann in the room and not three.

“Coming off that supercharged, Lightning Mcqueen caffeine high, eh?” That made more sense, and Erin nods. Holtz smiles and loops an arm around the woman's waist. “Come on. Let’s get you to bed before you pass out and I have to carry you bridal style up the stairs. I know it’s been a dream of yours, but I’d like you conscious for that event.”

"Don’t threaten a girl with a good time,” Erin fires back, pleased she’s still able to maintain a sliver of wit despite feeling like half her brain and body had simultaneously shut off while the rest was being sucked out through her pounding temples.

“Threats are for cowards, my awkward giraffe. I only ever make promises.”

Erin’s reply is a soft chuckle that fades too quickly for her liking. She’d experienced the low side of a sugar rush before, but nothing like this. Four steps into their journey upstairs it becomes apparent she’s lacking more than energy but also the strength to stand on her own volition.

“Not good,” Erin mumbles, catching the doorframe with weak fingers that barely grip the wood.

“Kind of takes me back to that New Year’s party Patty threw where you drank too much of Uncle Earle’s spiked punch,” Holtzmann reminisces. What a memory that was.

“We don’t…talk about…that,” Erin attempts to warn. It comes out more of a moan.

“Per the lady’s request, no,” Holtz said and leans in close so her lips barely brush Erin’s ear. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t still remember. In fact…” The engineer moves quickly—settling long arms around her neck—before easily lifting Erin into Holtz’s patented get-girlfriend-to- destination-without-falling-or-dragging technique: a piggyback ride. “I believe this is how I got you home that night.”

Groaning her objections, Erin is carried, once again, like an oversized backpack. The two pass the living room where Abby snores soundly on the sofa in front of the TV and make it to their shared quarters without hassle. Letting the taller woman flop back onto their bed, Holtzmann flicks on a bedside light and finds what she expected. Energy gone, Erin was all but asleep, still wearing her jumpsuit and sports bra.  

Usually, the task of undressing her partner was spurred on by want and need, or at the very least done in the hazy fumble of grasping hands and deep kisses. Tonight, however, Holtz sets about her task with an appreciative half-smile and careful gentility.

Relieved of jumpsuit and boots, Erin unconsciously rolls onto her side, burrowing into the familiar scent of her and her girlfriend’s shared pillows. The sight makes Holtzmann chest warm. Sometimes it was the simple things that became the most profound in relationships. Passion was good. Good sex was awesome. But quiet, stolen moments were golden.

Settling into her usual place on the mattress, Holtz covers her partner and contents herself with a little late-night doodling and blueprint sketches. Sleep wouldn’t visit her tonight. She’d promised Abby to keep an eye on Erin in case something changed. Good on her word, that exactly what the engineer did.  


	4. Repercussions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well look at that. I actually updated within a reasonable amount of time. But you all, this chapter about killed me. Fought me tooth and nail, so I hope it reads well. There's a lot of technical research that went into this. Like, I'm embarrassed by how much I researched xD
> 
> Anyway, please enjoy, and as always please comment and kudo. I literally live off them. Not ashamed to say that.

After waking up at six every morning for the past decade, Erin’s internal clock was pretty well set. She only slept late on Sundays—if you could call sleeping an extra two hours sleeping in—or when she was sick, so it came as a bit of surprise when the physicist blearily opened her eyes the next morning and discovered by way of bedside alarm clock it was well past eleven. Her initial shock, however, was quickly forgotten in the wake of a new discovery.

Breathtaking pain.

It was everywhere and radiated in varying levels of discomfort starting from her neck and ending at the soles of her feet. Buoyed completely out of the hazy confines of sleep, Erin attempts to shift and realizes her mistake immediately. Uncurling from the question mark she made on her side was like trying to turn a rusty knob. The physicist didn’t know whether to gasp, groan, or scream. She may have done a variation of all three in her attempt to simply roll over. Hard to tell. Either way, everything hurt.

Her shins and thighs seemed to radiate most of the volcanic anger. Erin recognized that special breed of agony from her less than stellar years in high school. Microtears in the bone and muscle. Shin splints. Probably pulled hamstrings too. Oh, how wonderful. But the ache of her back, the sting of her hands, the stiffness in her shoulders, and the throb of her left hip were all close seconds, jockeying for attention.

“Oh… _god_ ,” she gasps rolling onto her back, seeking reprieve. There isn’t any to find in that position either, the exertion leaving her sucking in a sharp breath. Lifting her hands into view, Erin hisses at the burn of fresh white blisters forming along the junction between her fingers and palm, echoes of her climb up the fire escape…

“Sleeping Beauty awakens.”

Erin almost yelps when she turns to look at the blonde engineer leaning against the doorway, arms crossed over her chest, head resting against the frame. She was still in her night clothes—a cut-off band tee and a pair of Captain America boxers— hair a mess of curls around her shoulders. Holtz smiles sympathetically and holds up a bottle of extra-strength Advil, shaking it like a rattle.

“Thought you might need a little help from our friends in the opioid family.”

“Those are more like nonsteroidal anti-inflammatories.”

Holtz hitches an eyebrow. “Are you really going to get picky?”

“Absolutely not, and if they haven’t Sainted you yet, they need to,” Erin groans pitifully from the flat of her back. There was no point attempting to gingerly do anything when literally her entire body was screaming. With wincing effort, the brunette pushes herself into a sitting position with help from her girlfriend and graciously accepts three green pills and a glass of water.

“I like the sound of being canonized and worshiped,” Holtzmann surmises aloud, scooting behind Erin so her back is against the wall and the brunette rests against her torso. Circumstances notwithstanding, this was a common Sunday morning occurrence for the two. Lazy days were spent in bed for as long as possible, content on each other's company. “Could you imagine the stained glass?”

“And what patron Saint would you become?”

Holtz opens her mouth to answer but closes it just as quickly, face turning thoughtful. “Patron Saint of Weirdos.”

Erin snorts a sharp laugh, but the expansion of her chest dissolves her mirth into a whimper. “Oh god, I feel like I got hit by a bus.”

“Had a pretty wicked night last night,” Holtzmann says conversationally, threading her fingers through Erin’s auburn hair. “Need me to fill you in on what happened? You were kind of moving at the speed of light”

Erin shakes her head, closing her eyes against the bliss of Holtz’s fingers massaging her scalp. “I remember everything and…wow.”

“Wow’s a good way of putting it.”

“Did that really happen? Did I really run back here from the warehouse…”

“And jumped down from the fire escape onto Ecto-1, which, I might add, was hot as shit.”

Erin blushes at the compliment and faintly smiles. She'd be lying if comments like those didn't make her heart flutter a little more each time. It was nice being reminded she was beautiful in someone else's eyes.

“You almost broke the human speed record, too. I don’t know what happened, but it was awesome. You were awesome. This whole thing is just awesome!”

“I’m glad you’re being so optimistic about this.”

“And you’re not?”

“I…am,” Erin answers slowly like she can’t decide where to plant her words. “It’s hard to compute last night. The information’s there, and I can recall a lot, but everything feels scattered.”

“Like your brain’s a ten thousand piece puzzle on a shaker-table?” the engineer supplies helpfully.

“You were always better at visual references.” Erin sighs contentedly when her girlfriend moves her fingers to the nape of her neck and rubs there.

“Happy to help,” Holtzmann shows the stretch of her white teeth. “But yeah, you went off like a firecracker. I’m so glad I got it all on film.”

Erin’s groan comes out more of a whine. “Please never let those videos see the light of day.”

“Maybe they’re for my personal viewing,” Holtz purrs close to her girlfriend’s ear, please when the older woman shivers.

“Great,” Erin huffs, shaking off the wave of goosebumps rippling across her skin. “So I’ve become your personal aphrodisiac.”

The engineer chuckles and wraps her arms around the physicist’s shoulders, nuzzling her neck. Erin closes her eyes, front teeth sinking into the meat of her bottom lip. “Baby, you’ve been in my spank-bank for a while. That’s just more fuel for my fire.”

Just like that the moment snaps. Under normal circumstances, Holtzmann would have earned a sharp smack for her comment. Erin tries but winds up twisting wrong, cramping the muscles in her abdomen and arching off her partner with a string of curses.

“Oh my god, I hate this,” she grates out after her muscles quiet again. “And you’re awful. I hope you know that.”

“So feisty,” Holtzmann murmurs against Erin’s neck, kissing slowly from the lobe of her ear to the junction of her shoulder. Her voice lowers a decibel when she rumbles out breathily, “Let me make it up to you?”

The sensation of warm lips against the column of her neck and the growl in Holtzmann’s voice make Erin turn ever so slightly, bearing pales skin that begins to redden. Her exhale turns into a faint whimper when Holtz begins lightly sucking at a sensitive pulse-point, eyes rolling shut involuntarily. It takes her a few tries to coagulate her thoughts into words.

“Not that…I don’t a-appreciate the gesture—“ she sucks in and arches when she feels teeth graze her skin— “but a shower may be…”

“You’re right,” the engineer says brightly, popping up and immediately stopping her ministrations. The shock leaves Erin reeling. “A shower would be best.”    

“I just—why did you—you can’t just…oh, come on!” Erin complains when Holtzmann eases her forward and climbs out of bed, leaving the other woman to flop back on the mattress. “You can’t just do that and leave!”

“Call it precursory teasing,” Holtz winks, grin turning Cheshire Cat wide.  

“I hate you,” Erin pouts, taking her girlfriend’s offered hand and easing herself onto the edge of the bed. This was going to hurt.

“Love the high. Hate the addiction. That’s how it works, baby.”

Erin chooses not to reply, instead focusing on what came next.

Turns out, getting out of bed and to the shower was indeed an endeavor. Any amount of pressure put on her lower extremities results in shrieking agony that has Erin unable to completely rise from the bed her first couple of tries until Holtz levers herself under her partner enough the taller woman could use her as an impromptu crutch. Step by tottering step, the two make it down the hall to the communal bathroom.

Erin sits miserably on the toilet lid while Holtz gets the water to temperature and fetches a plastic stepping stool small enough to fit between the walls of the tub.

“My queen,” she bows, offering both hands.

“You have an invalid for a girlfriend,” the physicist sighs as Holtzmann helps her out of her underwear and into the shower. The engineer resists the urge to jump in and join her, figuring there was little room as is and Erin needed the hot water more than she needed to fool around.

"Oh contraire,” she corrects from beyond the drawn curtain. “I have a superhero for a girlfriend who just came into her powers. It’s to be expected.”

“How, exactly, is this expected?” Erin asks, basking in the bliss near scalding water brings to her aching body.

“My years of comics and sci-fi books have prepared me for this exact moment,” Holtz replies. “I will help train you. We will use your powers for only good. Anonymity will be your greatest ally. You are Super Ghoul from henceforth!”

“Super Ghoul?” The incredulity in Erin’s voice makes Holtzmann laugh out loud. “Really? So I’m just a few letters off from being Superman’s female cousin.”

“Oh baby,” the engineer shivers, poking her head around the curtain. “I love it when you talk nerdy to me.”

“Dork,” Erin snorts out her nose and throws water at her girlfriend -which Holtz is quick to dodge- before starting the arduous process of soaping her hair and body.

“You love me. Do you need any help or should I just leave you to it?”

“Some coffee would be wonderful.”

“Coffee it is!” Holtz gives her signature salute despite Erin not being able to see it. “I’ll get it brewing and then come back and reel you out.”

“Take your time!” Erin calls, listening to Holtzmann’s receding footfalls before turning her attention back onto herself.

Curling and uncurling her sore fingers, Erin turns introspective, mind a whir of hypotheses and theories. She can’t stop trying to better understand last night, going over every moment with a fine-toothed comb.

It all came back to the axe.

That was the key to the lock she was attempting to open. How had she touched it? Humans didn’t possess the capabilities of making skin-to-ectoplasmic contact. Ghosts could touch humans with concentrated psychokinetic manipulation—ecto-projection notwithstanding— but it didn’t work in reverse due to the unknown variables of psychokinetic energy.

So then what did Erin grabbing an ecto-weapon out of thin air mean? Had the ley line spike super-ionized it, making it possible for human contact? But if that was the case, why had Erin’s body reacted in the manner it had?

 _There’s something here_ , Erin thinks, watching rivulets of water sluice down her arms and arc off her fingertips. _Something I’m missing._

She goes back and looks again, eyes closed to help hone her focus. According to her and Abby’s hypotheses, spectral entities were ectoplasmic shells powered by PKE. As far as Erin knew, ectoplasm wasn’t so much an energy source as it was a wrapper—a very sticky, very hard to scrub off one’s body wrapper. It’s what powers the ectoplasm that matters…and that was, theoretically, PKE.

The sound of knuckles beating out a fast staccato on the bathroom door makes her jump.

“Still alive in there, Super Ghoul?” Holtzmann calls. Erin has to fight not to groan at the address.

“As much as I can be,” she calls back after a stuttering moment returning to the here and now.

“Should I venture in or let yah stew for a bit longer?”

The brunette looks down at her pruney fingers and wiggles wrinkled toes. Thanks to the firehouse having a sizable water heater, hot showers could last more than an hour. Had she been in there that long? Surely not. Reaching around, she turns the showerhead off, still stiff but markedly more flexible.

“No, I’m done.”

“Roger that.” Holtz shoulders open the door and toes it closed behind her. Instead of a coffee mug, the blonde offers a fresh change of clothes. She had also changed into a loose t-shirt, baggy cargo shorts, and Holtzmann's standard red robe. Her hair was back in a messy bun. “Yoga pants and a hoodie. Lazy-day wear. Also, Patty’s here, and Abby’s waiting on us downstairs.”

Erin started, the question written clearly on her face. “It’s Sunday…”

“Is it?” Holtz looks around, feigning surprise. “I didn’t know.”

“Why is Patty here? It’s her day off.”

The engineer gives her girlfriend a helpless shrug before stealing a kiss, enjoying Erin's shower-warmed lips. “Probably came to check up on you,” she mutters against them before deepening the embrace. The two remain where they're rooted, trading slow lackadaisical kisses that leave them both flushed and tingling.

“Or beat me severely about the head and shoulders,” Erin murmers once they pull apart. She still can’t believe she brought down one of Patty’s beloved bookcases. If the historian didn’t immediately murder her when Erin showed her face it would prove the enduring strength of their friendship.

Leaning heavily on Holtz, Erin dresses and makes it to the second floor before her stiff legs begin to give her trouble. Pausing at the door to Holtzmann’s lab, the engineer darts in to grab something—giving her girlfriend a chance to rest—when something catches Erin’s eye.

“Jil…who touched my whiteboard?”

“Hmm?” Holtz pops up from behind a workbench and squints at the board covered in truly dizzying equations. “That was all you, jitter-bug.”

Half stumbling, half staggering, Erin makes it to the couch and claims one of the arms, scrutinizing the numbers in front of her. Her heart begins to beat faster. “I don’t remember writing any of this.”

“Really?” The engineer joins her partner in a haphazard flop against the cushions. “You were flying through the numbers last night.”

It seemed impossible, yet the proof showed otherwise. Erin had been working on advanced calculations for miniaturized particle acceleration and a new cooling system from Holtzmann’s pack revisions, but the numbers just hadn’t been there. She’d been stuck for weeks on the same damn set of equations with no movement in either direction.

“I solved it,” she whispers, in awe of her own words.

“That’s because you have a beautiful brain which I’d kiss it if it wasn’t locked inside your skull.”

“No, Holtz, _I solved it_ ,” Erin repeats, turning as much as she can. “But I can’t make any sense of my own numbers. Everything fits. The equation looks sound, but _how_ did I reach this conclusion?”

“You tell me.”

“I _can’t_.” The physicist looks back at the whiteboard, feeling her stomach do a fizzy flip. “I don’t remember how I figure it out, but here it is in literal black and white. What the hell happened last night?”

“I already told you,” Holtzmann grinned up at her. “Something amazing.”

Erin agreed by nodding, eyes tracking over her work. This was…well, it truly blew her away, and she would have likely remained in the lab staring at her whiteboard had Holtz not gently taken her arms and lead her towards the stairs.

“Bout time you showed up. I was wondering if—“ Abby stops mid-sentence when she looks up and sees Holtz and Erin on the landing, the latter of the two leaning heavily on the engineer, face pale, jaw clenching so hard it was a wonder she still had back teeth. The researcher is up and moving before her mind computes the movement, wordlessly snaking Erin’s free arm over her shoulder and helping the taller woman to the couch.

“Is this from last night?” Abby asks, looking to Holtz for an answer that comes from Erin.

“Yeah. Shin splints, among other things.” Erin shows Abby her blistered hands. The smaller woman winces.

“God, they look like cottage cheese.”

“Gross, Abby. Thank you for that.”

“Want me to get you some ice?”

Erin shakes her head. “No, the shower helped a lot, thanks.”

“You finally settled down from your marathon around New York? Pretty sure the way you were going it was gonna be a historical ending,” Patty says from the kitchen doorway, leaning against the lentil. Her light tone disguises the historian’s own aches, some of which could be seen in the dark bruising around her brow-line, turning her already dark skin a vivid purple.

“Very funny,” Erin says around an exhale, settling back against the cushions. “And I’m sorry about the bookcase.”

Patty shakes her head with a bemused smile. “I was gonna still be mad at you, but I think Karma might have beaten me to it.”

All Erin can do is suck in her lips and nod until her stomach growls loud enough she’s pretty sure someone might call Animal Control to report a wild bear sighting.

“Damn,” Patty laughs. “I heard that from here. Man, I swear, some of the loudest noises come from the smallest packages.” Realization of what she just said registers fast enough she’s able to lift a finger to stop the response about to leave Holtzmann’s grinning lips. “Uh-uh. It might be well after noon, but I ain’t ready for Holtzy innuendos and sex talk. Keep that shit to yourself.”

Holtzmann sticks her bottom lip out and pouts. “You’re no fun.” But when Erin’s stomach gives another boisterous growl she can't help but laugh and presses her ear against the physicist’s torso, covering one ear as she does. “I think I can hear the ocean! Or maybe the rise of Cthulhu.”

Erin rolls her eyes and begins scratching Holtz’s head—the engineer whining and growling like a dog, nuzzling Erin’s stomach—while Abby heads into the kitchen with a promise of calling in lunch.

An hour later Benny arrives, and the typical conversation between him and Abby ensues in the doorway. The three remaining ‘busters watch the exchange with varying ranges of amusement. Abby finally pays the poor delivery boy and shoos him along, Benny waving enthusiastically at the watching three before leaving.

“You’re so mean to that boy,” Patty tisks, setting out a plate for herself so she can shovel her beef and broccoli atop her rice “like a good heathen” as Abby would put it.

“All I’m asking for is a reasonable delivery time. That’s it. Get from point A to point B in the allotted time.”

“Baby,” Patty says, pointing with her fork, “it’s been like this for almost half a decade. Quoting that damn Disney movie my niece won’t stop watching ‘let it go’.”

“Aww, come on, Patty. Don’t give Abby the cold shoulder.” Holtz grins toothily when the historian shoots her a searing glare. Pointing her knife at the engineer is only vaguely threatening.

“Don’t you dare start up with those ice puns again. I will end you.”

“What can I say? I’ve got a vice for puns and no chill. You love me.” Holtz winks and blows a kiss. Everyone else groans.

“This is why we can’t have ice things,” Erin mutters into her glass, unable to keep the smile from curling her lips. Holtzmann sputters with laughter, spraying the table with unchewed white rice and nearly choking.

“Oh god, not you too!” Patty bemoans, sagging dramatically back in her chair. “Man, I’m not sure I like Holtzmann’s sense of humor rubbing off on you. After last night, I sure as hell don’t want to deal with two Holtzys’ in the world.”

Mention of the previous night sobers everyone and prompts a shift in conversation.

“So last night…” Abby begins, not exactly knowing where to start.

“Was crazy as hell,” Patty mutters between bites.

“Do we even know what happened? Cause, I realize _how_ it happened but…can’t really wrap my brain around the rest of it.” Abby looks around the table as if one of her colleagues might hold the answer but everyone seems to be staring at Erin.

“Erin, baby doll,” Patty raises an eyebrow, not three bites into her own food. “If you eat any faster you’re going to have to chug a whole container of powdered fiber to move the shit through your system.”

Erin freezes mid-bite and looks up, rice and pieces of chicken sticking to her cheeks. Her face flushes guiltily. “I’m really hungry,” she mumbles by way of answer after swallowing half of what was in her mouth.

“We can tell,” Abby says, looking somewhere between worried and amused.

“She’s just a growing Saiyan,” Holtz says around a mouthful of food, the only person at the table not slightly alarmed by Erin’s apparent gusto. The engineer alone could clear a plate in under a minute. Patty had timed her. Erin returns her partner’s closed-mouth grin, trying her hardest not to giggle at Holtz’s stuffed and puffed-out cheeks.

“I’ve been trying to get a handle on what happened last night,” Erin admits after cleaning her plate and reaching for a second helping. “And what I’ve theorized is…well…it’s a little broad, even for us.”

“Erin,” Abby deadpans, mixing her lo mein with chopsticks. “We hunt ghosts for a living.”

“Yes but even _our_ research has limits, Abby.”  

“Given what we witnessed, I’m willing to rethink some things.” It's difficult to hide the spark of curiosity growing into live embers behind Abby’s eyes, even when she tries to remain neutral to new topics of research. This is what she lived for.

Taking a breath, Erin prepares to put into words her only reasonable—and she used that term loosely—conclusion. “I think we may have just uncovered a raw manifestation of Psychokinetic Energy existing outside an ectoplasmic host.”

The table goes quiet. Holtz stops shoveling orange chicken into her mouth. Patty frowns, slowly putting the pieces together. But Abby…her eyebrows snap together so fast it’s a wonder they didn’t clap.

“Erin…what you’re suggesting—”

“Sounds incredible, I know.”

“Incredible doesn’t describe it." The way Abby scoffs almost makes Erin blanch. "It sounds improbable at best. We’ve only theorized about PKE and its properties through Spectral Field Theory. The axe you touched last night was ectoplasmic. We should be looking more at ectoplasm research than PKE.”

“How many times have we been slimed?” Erin askes, hands clasped before her to keep them from shaking out of excitement.

“Are we talking you or the rest of us?” Holtz grins, kicking her chair back onto its back legs and propping her knee against the table.

“In general,” Erin waves a dismissive hand. “We’ve all had some form of ectoplasm on our bodies, and none of those incidents have resulted in what happened last night. So if it wasn’t the ectoplasm, it had to be something else. I think that’s PKE.”

“Wait, wait, wait, hold up,” Patty puts up a forestalling hand. “What happened to the theory that humans can’t interact with anything metaphysical? I’d assume that meant PKE too. We can’t just start jumping to conclusions. For all we know, it was a freak thing that will never happen again.”

“A freak thing?” Abby echoes back incredulously before either Erin or Holtzmann could reply, almost sounding offended. “You call Erin running across town at twenty miles per hour a fluke? Or, how about her catching an ecto-weapon _with her bare hands_?”

“I know where you’re coming from, and believe me I’m just as wigged out, but think about it. There was a ley line spike. Those pirates were hella ionized even before we showed up. We’ve been busting for four years. Why would something suddenly happen now unless it was just a perfect storm situation?”

“There’s no such thing as coincidence in our line of work. We’re scientists. We can’t just leave it alone and pretend it didn’t happen,” Abby challenges, food forgotten.

“I ain’t saying that,” Patty says defensively. “I’m saying we don’t jump to random conclusions without first looking at all the facts.”

“And some of those facts point to something beyond our understanding happening,” Abby rebuts, stubborn as a bulldog when she latches onto a theory. “In all the years we’ve been doing this we’ve _never_ been able to physically interact with entities like that. Never. All of our theories and research just went out the window.”

“You think they’d notice if we just got up, took all their food, and went upstairs? We can split the crab meat wontons,” Holtz whispers into Erin’s ear. As tempting as the offer was, the brunette shakes her head.

“Guys,” Erin raises a hand to get her friends’ attention but has to repeat herself several times before eventually slamming her hands on the table, upsetting the salt and pepper shakers. Pain stabs through her blisters, making her wince. That was a bad idea.

“Sorry,” she amends after seeing her friends’ startled looks. “You’re forgetting one key thing here. This happened to _me_. We’re not getting this secondhand, so I can tell you there was nothing coincidental about it. I…felt something last night.”

Which was the biggest understatement of the year. She’d felt every synapse in her body fire at once when her fingers closed around the axe handle. It was like Erin had been colorblind all her life and suddenly given the ability to not only _see_ each color but also _feel_ them. The overload had been intensely thrilling.   

“Look, I know this is…this is _beyond_ us. This is so far beyond anything we’ve ever touched on. All our theories…” Erin looks to Abby. “We have to rethink them because we may have just been handed an _unprecedented_ opportunity.”

“You keep saying that, but I’m not sure where we can go from here.”

“Abby…” Erin chews her bottom lip uncertainly, glancing at Holtz out of the corner of her eye. “I solved it.”

“Which ‘it’ are we talking about?”

“The miniaturized particle acceleration equations. I apparently solved them last night.”

“ _That’s_ what you were working on?” The disbelief coloring Abby’s voice causes it to rise a little. “And you solved it? How? You’ve been stuck for weeks!”

“That’s the thing. Whatever happened to me at the warehouse did something not only physically but also mentally. I don’t know if it boosted mental stimuli or maybe I knew the answer all along and needed something to throw me off my normal train of thought, but I solved it. We can’t just let this go.”

For the first time since the topic had been breached Abby looked genuinely uncertain. “I agree with you. I do. But unless we find a way to recreate last night and study it in a controlled environment we’re pretty much dead in the water.” She sighs, shoving away her now unwanted food. Her attention—and everyone else’s for that matter— abruptly shifts to Holtzmann who’s low chuckles had steadily grown into a consistent laugh that filled the kitchen like some kind of mad scientist cackle.

“When she starts to do that, I get really nervous,” Patty whispers to Abby, eyeing the blonde.

“Something you want to share with the class?” the researcher prompts, frowning.

“This whole situation is insane,” Holtz giggles, drawing up both knees and resting her arms on them, peering at her friends from behind her yellow specs. “Completely batshit insane. Erin gets superpowers for a night and now we’re talking about the possibility of tangible PKE. This is some next level insane shit.”

“Thank you for pointing out the obvious.”

“I do what I can. But the irony here is that we’re are at the cusp of discovering something groundbreaking and can’t even research it because the Ghostbusters can’t catch the ghost of a supposedly nonexistent particles. The hilarity in that is outstanding.” The engineer suddenly stops her giggling, face breaking into such a wide, predatory grin it’s a wonder the corners of her mouth didn’t split. “But I have an idea.”

“Oh sweet baby Jesus, I’m not prepared for this,” Patty groans into her hands.

“You had my attention now you have my curiosity,” Abby nods for the woman to continue, folding her arms across her chest.

“Excellent. Wait here, my little ducklings.”

Holtz takes off towards the back of the building, leaving her friends to sit in nervous silence. When she returns, all three women jump up from the table in a squeal of chair legs against linoleum—Erin more or less rolls out of her seat—when a silver containment thermos lands in the middle of their meal.

“Holtz, what the literal fuck?” Abby shouts, brushing lo mein off her sweater.

“My idea,” the engineer grins, gesturing at the thermos.

“Is to turn our food radioactive?!”

“Please,” she snorts. “The air in here has enough radioactivity in it the CDC would quarantine us if they ever measured it.”

“Baby,” Patty looks a shade paler than normal. “That’s not reassuring, like at all.”

“We want to recreate last night, right?” Holtzmann explains, patting the thermos. Her eyes dart around the room before meeting Erin’s, sparkling with mischief. “I don’t know about you, but I’d rather get the ghosts to come to us, if yah catch my drift?”

“What are you suggesting?” Abby sputters. “We release a ghost here in the kitchen?”  

“Not the kitchen.”

The rebuttal comes out of nowhere, spat out like a bullet from a gun. All eyes turn to Erin. The brunette stares at the floor, fingers at her side twitching as her mind worked through calculations.

“What?” is all Abby can eke out.

Something goes off in the physicist’s mind and her eyes widen. Only Holtzmann is close enough to see understanding dawn, and she can’t hold back her excited bouncing. She loved how synced she and Erin had become over the years.

“Not the kitchen. We need more control…more containment.”

Tottering out of the room without a word, Erin cuts across the first floor and enters the long hallway adjacent to the garage, colleagues trailing close behind. She was excited, her mind a blur of activity. Science and research were an integral part of her DNA. Her vice might have been the numerical breakdown of both the natural and unnatural world, but that didn’t mean she didn’t share Abby and Holtz’s passion for creation and experimentation or Patty’s love for documentation and exploration.

But it was more than that. Ambition was a familiar yoke. It had driven Erin like a team of horses under the whip from the moment of its conception in grade school. Her best wasn’t good enough. She had to be better than her therapist. Better than the friends her parents paid to pacify their daughter. Better than her classmates. Better than the crippling self-doubt and the memory of that scared eight-year-old girl hiding under her covers and listening to the raspy taunting of her ghostly abuser. Erin had sharpened her mind to a wicked edge, dug her heels into the mud, and clawed her way into the realms of credibility one slippery step at a time.

Which meant the prospect of new research filled her chest with excited carbonation. Erin was one of the brightest theoretical physicists seen in the past decade. Her capabilities of turning fantasy into reality were unprecedented in the realms of modern science, but that didn’t mean she or her colleagues didn’t struggle for every scrap of ground they eked out of their research. So the idea their hard work may have _finally_ paid off in the form of tangible proof was beyond thrilling.

It was a game changer. Or it would be once all the pieces fell together, and that would mean doing exactly what Holtzmann suggested.

The physicist stops in front of a metal door at the end of the hall. She aches from too much purposeful movement but pushes the discomfort aside. There would be time to deal with that once the adrenaline left her blood.

Reaching out, Erin presses the handle down and pushes the door open with her fingertips. Motion-activated lights flicker to life, revealing the windowless, cement room and its contents. The ‘busters used it mainly for storage, but its intended use was far more…interesting.

It was a panic room.

There was no real knowledge as to why such a room existed inside a New York firehouse. Patty surmised—when she couldn’t dig up any useful information on the building other than land grants and ownership—that whoever owned it before the firehouse took over wanted a safe space in case of emergencies.

 _One man’s panic is another man’s opportunity,_ Erin thinks to herself, scanning the room, her purposed idea hitting everyone in turn.

“I knew there was a reason I loved you,” Holtzmann beams, snaking her arm around her girlfriend’s waist and planting a kiss on the side of her head. She turns to a waiting Abby and Patty, never more in her element, and begins listing specs like she’s listing ingredients. “Three-inch thick cement walls build around a steel and brick frame. Heavy, impact resistant door capable of locking both inside and out. No windows. Motion-activated lighting. Cement floor. No drain system. No way in or out except through that door. I’d say this is about as controlled as we’re going to get.”

“Here?” Abby points at the ground, disbelief lifting her brows high. This was a bit much, even for her. “Right here?”

“Right here,” Holtzmann confirms with a nod.

“If we really want to research this, Abby, this is how we’re going to do it,” Erin says, still eyeing the room and imagining the possibilities.

“I don’t know about you, but I’m not really keen on bringing research like this into our _home_.”

“Thinking scientifically, there are many variables out in the field,” Erin says, adopting a serious look. “Too many chances for something to go wrong. In here, we control everything.”

“That’s suggesting our hypotheses hold merit,” Abby snorts.

“Only one way to find out, Abs.” The brunette bumping her best friend with her shoulder. “Come on, we’ve dreamed about something like this for years. We can’t back down from something like this.”

Abby squints suspiciously. “Are you sure you’re the same Erin Gilbert who walked into my lab four years ago demanding I take our book off Amazon?”

“No,” Erin grins back. “I’m her but smarter and a whole lot gayer.”

The joke cracks the tension like a brick through a mirror. Patty shakes her head, so done with all the foolishness. Abby covers her eyes with a hand, shoulders shaking. When the researcher looks back up she can’t help but shrug helplessly.

“I guess we have our answer then, but we’re missing one key facet. We can’t just let a ghost loose in the firehouse and start rooting around. We need a plan of attack, so to speak, and a safe way of touching the entity, provided that’s even possible. Let’s not repeat last night until we know, definitively, what the fuck happened and why.”   

Holtzmann, always a step ahead, bobs her head like she’s moving to a beat only she can hear and moves her hands like she’s trying to get a thought out. “I might have another idea to help this little excursion along. If you will all follow me to the lab…”


	5. Swing of the Pipe

“I call them ecto-mitts!” Holtzmann beams with radiant pride, presenting her newest bit of tech, jazz hands and fake crowd-cheers added for effect.

It had been four days since the Ghostbusters came to the absolutely insane agreement they would begin researching the possibility of tangible PKE by releasing live ghosts in their home. Holtzmann hadn’t slept in that entire time, living off of poisonous amounts of caffeine and Pringles. The last time Erin saw her girlfriend this fired up was during Holtzmann’s creation of the net-ball. The lab exploded no less than three times during that harrowing event. Holtz damn near blew herself through a wall and burned off most of the hair on her arms and face. Erin was still missing a patch of hair on her right eyebrow. The scorch mark on the ceiling in the lab still hadn’t been painted over.

Erin summons her courage first and picks up one of the contraptions, turning it over in her hands with nervous delicacy. She notes the technical additions added to a seemingly average pair of tactical gloves. Wires and a bit of rough exoskeletal mechanics run along the backs of the fingers and palm, culminating in a clunky bit of additional wrist tech.

“Wanna give a non-scientist a quick lowdown on what these things are and do?” Patty asks, maintaining her distance. Abby stands with her arms crossed at the end of the table, watching quietly.  

“Patty, your quest for knowledge and understanding is an inspiration to us all,” Holtzmann beams cheekily.

The taller woman’s deadpan look doesn’t lift. “The only thing I’m questing for is to know whether or not those are gonna take my hands off once I put them on.”

“That’s the fun of experimentation,” Holtz chuckles, flipping a pair of plyers and winking.

“You terrify me.”

“Achievement unlocked a long time ago, Pattycake.”

“Can I try them out?” Erin asks, cutting into the conversation. She can’t help feeling a surge of excitement trickle down her spine.

“Not those, my eager little guinea pig. Not calibrated yet. Just gotta tweak a few more wires.” Holtz trades the mitts Erin holds for a pair that look identical save for the fact these are blue instead of red.

“Wanna roll over the specs?” Abby prompts, leafing through a few pages of schematics Holtz left out on the desk, glasses perched on the edge of her nose.

The engineer sweeps into a bow and directs her attention onto Erin. “Of course. What you are currently sliding your wonderfully dainty fingers into are my aforementioned ecto-mitts.” She points with tongs while explaining. “These puppies are a hybrid blend of ectoplasmic containment tech and wearable comfort. In a nutshell, they work like our containment thermoses. I used the electrical frequency that keeps our spooky friends locked up as a base to enable us to, theoretically, grab onto spectral matter for a short period of time.”

“No shit,” Patty remarks in surprise, eyebrows rising. She risks drifting a little closer.

Reaching forward, Holtzmann presses a button on the wrist attachment and the gloves buzz to life. A crackle of electricity arcs down the fingers, culminating in two glowing sections: the palm of the hand and each individual joint of the finger. Erin holds her hands out like she’s attempting to hug someone, eyes flicking uneasily between both activated mitts.

“Okay, that’s pretty damn cool,” Patty whistles.

“Feels a bit…tingly,” Erin comments, flexing her fingers. “Can we use these in combination with our proton guns?”

“No can do,” Holtz shakes her head. “The dueling frequencies would wreak havoc on each other. Medium electrical poof. Not fun. Can only use the mitts once the ghost is neutralized…for now. I’m working on the frequency calibrations. They shouldn’t have a problem with the net-balls though.”

“Good to know,” Abby says, squinting at a cluster of numbers scrawled on a blueprint schematic. “I’d rather not repeat the net-ball situation again.”

Holtzmann sticks out her lower lip, and Erin can’t help but inwardly giggle at the pouty look on her girlfriend’s face. “It wasn’t that bad.”

“You couldn’t see without halos in your vision for two weeks, and you knocked poor Erin unconscious for half a day.”

“To be fair, I was standing too close,” the physicist interjects defensively.

“You were halfway across the room! So let’s not repeat that day, yeah? I’ve already lost years on my life. Pretty sure I’m gonna drop dead at fifty.”

“How do you turn these off?” Erin turns her hands over looking for the switch but won’t risk touching anything for fear of causing a short-circuit.

“Just cross your arms and bump the wrist pieces together Wonder Woman style,” Holtz supplies, a little more subdued thanks to Abby’s mention of the net-ball trials. Had it not been for Patty’s fast reflexes grabbing the engineer and yanking her to the floor things might have turned out a shade grimmer. Like missing limbs grim. Still, Holtzmann shakes off her unease and plows forward.

“If everything proceeds as planned,” she explains, fidgeting with a few loose wires on another set of gloves before setting them aside, “we’ll be the first humans on earth able to give a ghost a titty-twister.”

Abby sputters with sudden laughter, the tension in the air lessening. “Oh my god, it’s almost worth it for that. Slap me.”

Holtz doesn’t hesitate leaping into her and Abby’s signature “handshake”, thrusting her hips a little harder than normal as the final move. “Hell yeah. We gonna have fun.”

“So how long is a short period?” Abby inquires picking up the prototype Holtz set aside. The researcher might not have known the exact technical math that went into this, but Abby was as much an inventor as Holtzmann and lived for her new inventions, even if they were liable to literally blow up in her face.

“Talking maybe twenty minutes at full max. Ten if you dial it back, but that’s just what the numbers says.” The blonde engineer’s face crinkles with mischievous mirth. “Testing these babies is the only definitive way to find out.”

“How fast can you get a containment thermos ready?” Erin says before anyone else can chime in. The engineer stops what’s she’s doing and looks up, blue eyes bright. This was unexpected but no less thrilling.

“For you, baby,” Holtz winks, shivering with as much anticipation as Erin was feeling. “Five minutes. Tops.”

Erin’s return smile is far less manic, but there’s a twinkle of something wild lingering behind her eyes. Scientific exploration had that effect. “Let’s go.”

“Wait, what?” Abby blinks, mirth swept aside by shock. Her green eyes skip between Holtz and Erin. “Go? No. Absolutely not. We need more time to work this out.”

“I’m with Abby on this one,” Patty puts in her two cents.

“We’ve done the math,” Erin counters over her shoulder, heading down to the locker room to climb into her coveralls.

“Erin, wait!” Abby runs to catch up, taking the prototype mitt with her. Holtzmann already beat them downstairs, taking the fireman’s pole at a speed which should have reduced her shins to dust upon landing. It takes Abby grabbing hold of the physicist’s arms to halt her purposeful stride. “Look, I know you’re excited about this, but we need to actually test these out first.”

“Which is what we’re going,” Erin retorts stubbornly.

“Test them _without a ghost present_.”

“How often do we test Holtz’s equipment in the alley when it’s still a prototype?

All the time,” Erin answers before Abby can form the words.

"Yeah, in the alley, not in the middle of a bust. Erin, we don’t know what we’re doing. This is new science, even for us. And between you and me, I’d rather not dive into this without having all my duckies in a row.”

“We have our ducks in a row. We have the mitts. We have the room. We have the plan. We have the ghost. I don’t see what else we’re missing.”

Abby sighs, taking off her glasses and rubbing tired eyes. Her prescription needed to be increased, she can already tell. “This isn’t us testing a proton shotgun in the alley, Erin. This is us _releasing_ a live ghost, no ironic pun intended, in our home. Best case scenario this plan actually works and we get an ecto-object, which we still don’t know what to do with. Worst case? We let a malevolent spirit free in an enclosed space where we can’t easily exit from. Oh, and where we also house literally hundreds of other entities in a locked but not impenetrable containment unit. Can you see where I’m going with this? The risk of catastrophic fuck-up is pretty damn high.”

Erin softens marginally, relaxing her shoulders. Abby has a valid point. This was beyond unconventional research, even for them, and the risks are monstrously high. They were banking everything on a hunch that could well see their little empire crumble at their feet. Ghosts were to be studied in the field. When they came back to the firehouse they were kept in their thermoses before being transferred to the containment unit on the ground floor. What Erin was suggesting went against almost five years of protocol. It also went against her better instincts.

Danger was a two syllable word not actively part of Erin’s everyday vocabulary. Especially reckless danger, and what they were about to embark on was reckless at best. Still, there had to come a point when the gloves came off—or went on in this case—and the ‘busters dove into the nitty-gritty of thing.

“I know you have reservations about this,” Erin begins, voice pitched in that cautious manner of someone about to launch into a sales pitch.

“No, reservations are what I have at Peter Lugers for us over Christmas. Come on, Erin. You know as well as I do I’m about as bad as Holtz when it comes to testing out new things. Remember who dragged who to the Aldridge mansion.”

“You didn’t exactly _drag_ me,” Erin mutters, folding her arms across her chest. “I followed you.”

“Yeah, with about as much enthusiasm as a dog about to get a bath,” Abby snorts, trying not to smile at the memory. It felt like a lifetime ago rather than a little under five years. “My point is, I know what it feels like to be excited about what we do. Hell, next to Holtz, I’m usually the most gung-ho about busts and new tech, but this isn’t a bust, and I’m…nervous.”

Hearing the admission makes Erin sit up and take notice, stomach dropping a bit. Abby rarely ever practiced overdramatics unless she was being playful, and there was nothing playful about her right now. The only thing Erin could accurately read on her face was uncertainty and a pinched kind of anxiety.

“But this could prove so much. Abby,” the physicist takes her best friend by the shoulders, “this is everything we’ve worked towards. Proving the existence of tangible PKE, of a very real paranormal element? That’s laying the foundation for groundbreaking science. That’s Nobel Prize winning work.”

“I know. I know,” Abby sighs. “I know what this could mean for us. For all of us. We’d be rewriting the history books. Talking monuments erected in our honor. Shit, I’m pretty sure even Loyd Auerbach would rise from the grave and congratulate us in the event our speculations are correct.”

“That would be a sight,” Erin chuckles, lips quirking into a small smile.

“Right? I’ve love to pick that man’s brain, but it’s beside the point. We’ve been working towards this our entire careers, and it would seem completely counterproductive to back down now. Well, more like me and Holtz have staked our careers on this. You came late to the show.”

Erin makes a disbelieving sound and socks her best friend in the shoulder, making Abby laugh. “We wrote _Ghosts from Our Pasts_ together. I’ve been riding this train as long as you have, thank you very much.”

“My mistake,” Abby smiles weakly. The researcher was prepared to say more when Holtzmann interrupts by ascending the stairs and stopping in front of them, eyebrows raised.

“You two having a good pow-wow?”

“Just going over some specs,” Erin answers before Abby.

Holtz doesn’t miss the look the shorter woman casts at her best friend and takes the opportunity to defer her next question to the unnamed leader of their group. “We good tah go?”

Caught between her two greatest loves—literally and figuratively—what was Abby supposed to say? On the one hand, Erin was right. They were on the cusp of something capable of rewriting modern science as they knew it. But on the other hand they were treading into water without knowing the depth or what lurked under the waves. The scientist in her said proceed with caution and take it slow. The ‘buster in her told her that without risk there wasn’t reward.

“I guess we’re a go,” Abby relents with a helpless spread of her hands. She was outgunned and knew it. Even with Patty on her side, Holtz and Erin would likely do the experiment without them, and the researcher would rather be present for all points of this venture. Someone had to be the voice of reason.

“Excellent,” Holtzmann beams, showing the stretch of her white teeth. But before she can scuttle off, Abby grabs her arm.

“To give me peace of mind, can you get the rest of your gloves working? I’d rather us not blunder into this unprepared.”

The engineer’s serious nod matches Abby’s serious tone. “Give me about thirty minutes to calibrate the other two. Think you can wait that long?” That question was directed at Erin with a wink.

“Do what you need to,” the physicist says, relenting a little to show her appreciation for Abby’s decision and her willingness to be a team player.

Exactly twenty-eight minutes later, the four women stand in uniform, armed to the teeth, in the center of the panic room. A silver thermos sits at their center, the release cord extending out the back like a black umbilical cord, pedal trapped under Holtzmann’s boot.  

“So how’s this gonna go down?” Patty asks, readjusting her grip on her gun.

“Seeing as this was Erin’s brainchild, I’m going to differ all questions to her,” Abby says and rolls her neck. Erin can’t help but hear the bite in her best friend’s voice and swallows a frown.

“We know how to catch and contain ghosts,” Erin begins, working the calculations over in her head for the hundredth time just to be certain she hadn’t missed anything. “So this process will pretty much be the same as a bust. Let the ghost out. Pin it with our proton guns. Get it on the ground with a net-ball. From there, we can…” she searches for the right word, shifting her shoulders as she does, “harvest the ecto-object.”

“Provided our spooky friend even has one,” Holtz adds.

“That too,” Erin agrees. “Provided the entity has an ecto-object.”

“I think for future busts that needs to become a thing,” Patty says. “We log the class but if we’re gonna start taking objects from these thing, we need to know who has what and in what container.”

“I like the way you think,” Abby smiles, prompting a big-toothed grin from the historian.

“What can I say? You’ve all rubbed off on me.”

“All right, let’s light it up.” Four sets of proton guns hum to life, red glow suffusing the windowless room.

“We do this quick and clean.” Abby has to raise her voice to be heard over the whir of their packs. In the small room, the sound echoes back at them, making it hard to hear. “Don’t let it get near the door, and for the love of god, don’t let it escape this room.”

“Got yah covered.” Holtz nods to the visible corners where she’d erected a small field container comprised of a modified laser grid. “Anything ectoplasmic gets close to the walls will be bounced back.”

“Smart thinking,” Abby nods in unexpected surprise, mouth set in a thin line. She hadn’t expected Holtz to think that far ahead.

“All my years of building booby-traps are coming in handy. Just wait until April Fools.”

“Oh nuh-uh. I’m taking a vacation in April if that’s the case,” Patty says shaking her head. “Not gonna stick around for any Holtzy shenanigans.”

Holtz blows the historian a kiss before proceeding with a countdown from five, the smile on her face growing with each number spoken. Hitting zero, she punches the pedal down with a gleeful, “Ready or not, here it comes!”, securing her proton gun in the pocket of her shoulder.

Four Ghostbusters collectively hold their breath as they venture into uncharted waters.

The container pops open with little finesse. For a split second nothing happens, which was to be expected. It took a moment for the entity within to reorient itself now that the containment field within the thermos was gone. Pressure builds suddenly in the panic room, the APX shift making everyone’s ears pop like they were ascending to a higher altitude. A breeze of ionization and ozone slips from the container seconds before the ghost reenters the world just as it had left, kicking and roaring loud enough to make them all recoil.

“Oh shit!” Patty yelps, recognition kicking her into a backpedal. The historian’s shock is echoed by her collogues. “Why’d you pick this guy?!”

“It was the first thermos I saw!” Holtz argues defensively. “The tag said T2 Electrician!”

“Does that look like an electrician to you?!”

Alive, the man had been the intimidating sort. Tall, stocky built, beer-bellied and ill-tempered. Probably a bar crawler by day and an angry drunk by night. In the afterlife, he was a force to reckon with. His death had been a violent one. Drowning during a sewer flood by Patty’s deduction after researching the area. Recovering his body had been a gruesome event, and whatever unfinished business had him tethered to the realm of the living twisted the entity into nothing short of monstrous.

The blast of energy from his reentry drives the four women back a handful of steps, compromising their equilibriums and positions. They recover in short order—this was their job on a daily basis after all—but the violent emergence of the ghost has them rattled. None more so than Erin. Frozen near the back of the room, the physicist can’t help recall the white hot pain of her forearm shattering under the impact of the ghost’s preferred weapon, a dull ache that persistently lingers long after the cast had been removed.

“It’s Mario!” Holtz declares with a friendly wave, skipping back to her feet. “Long time no see, bud! Your princess is in another castle!”

Hefting a wrench longer than his arm, the ivory gleam of the entity’s cloudy eyes sweep the room and land on Holtzmann. Translucent blue lips peel back in a savage snarl. “Don’t fucking touch me!” he roars, mouth opening just a little too wide to be considered normal.

“Abort! Abort! Get him back in!” Abby barks. “Get him back in the thermos, now!”

“Wait! He’s got a wrench!” Erin shoots, pushing aside her unease and eyeing the tool clutched tightly in the specter’s gnarled hands.

“Yeah and you of all people knows he can fucking use it!” Patty’s quick on the draw, priming her ghost-chipper like she’s revving a chainsaw. “Ain’t taking that chance again.”

“But he’s got an ecto-object!” Erin argues. This was what they’d done this for. Regardless of the entity, he had what they wanted.

“We’ll find another one on someone less likely to smash our skulls in!” Abby fires back. “It’s four against one! Take him down!”

Four proton streams discharge at once, but the entity is already moving, seeking to be away from the women. During their first encounter, Abby pegged him at a solid T4, and he was demonstrating just how capable he was at making their lives difficult. His attempt at rushing the door proves unsuccessful, translucent blue body bouncing off the ecto-barrier like a cheap rubber ball. Red and white stream encircle him on the recoil like glowing leeches, but he fights against them, thrashing and screaming like a fish on a line.

Holtz manages to snare him around the neck, whooping as she does, but the entity is audacious enough to grab the proton stream—hands smoking—and yank hard, dragging the engineer forward in a squeal of tactical boots against concrete. He lifts his wrench, preparing to brain the blonde, when a blast from Abby’s proton fist takes him in the back and sends him stumbling away.

“Abby, duck!” Erin shouts her warning at about the same time the ghost whirls and chucks his wrench at the researcher with a hard overhanded swing. The tool misses her by mere millimeters—breezing past her face in a blue twirl of cold air—and she takes a moment to thank whatever lucky star she’d been born under for Erin quick eye. Had that made contact, there was no telling—

Something smashes into Abby’s pack with enough force to kick her forward onto the floor. The sudden impact makes her see stars, iron blooming in her mouth from where she bites her tongue. The world fuzzes around the edges until Abby’s snapped back by Holtzmann frantically cutting off her pack with a boot knife. It’s not until the researcher squints in confusion and blearily looks over her shoulder that she understands what’s happening and scrambles to be free.

The three-foot long ecto-wrench sits embedded in the center of the synchrotron. In the center of the sparking, miniature nuclear reactor strapped to her back that was getting a tad bit too warm for comfort.

“Holtz, get it off,” Abby squeaks, struggling with her buckles, hands shaking. “Holtzmann! Don’t let this thing explode on my back!”

“Don’t freak. Don’t freak. Freaking is the antithesis of what you need to do.”

“There is a small nuclear reactor on my back that’s starting to get very hot! I’m gonna freak out a little!”

From across the room, Erin does her best to help pin the entity into a corner alongside Patty, but if four proton guns weren’t enough to stop him two certainly weren’t doing anything but piss him off. Out of the corner of her eye, the physicist watches Holtz strip off Abby’s pack before tearing off her ecto-mitts and diving into the internal guts of the machine, pulling wires seemingly at random. The pack continues to smoke and spark, Holtz’s cursing becoming more colorful. Unable to calculate any better alternatives, Erin makes a decision.

“Abby! Trade spots with me!”

“What?!”

Abandoning her attack on the ghost, Erin ran for her girlfriend, activating her ecto-mitts along the way. It’s nothing short of shocking when her hands close around her second ecto-object, awe and wonder overriding panic for just a split second.

They’d done it. They’d bridged the gap between humans and ectoplasm. This was the beginning of so much.

With a hard tug the ecto-weapon pops free in a shower of sparks and broken equipment. Erin stumbles away like Arthur after pulling the sword from the stone, marvel stunning her. She hadn’t gotten a solid feel for the ecto-axe she’d saved Patty from earlier in the week. Today was different. Today Erin could feel the substance of the object as if it were made of actual matter. A small laugh escapes her throat. The wrench is almost entirely weightless but feels sturdy in her glowing hands.

Erin’s captivation is cut short when the ghostly plumber breaks away from Abby’s repeated pummeling with her proton fist and Patty’s chipper with a self-contained burst of energy. He’s on top of Erin before she can blink twice, face twisted in rage.

“Mine!” he shouts, grabbing madly for his wrench.

Suffering five years of similar situations, Erin ducks under the grab and swings the wrench out of instinct, shocked when the weapon actually finds its mark and makes contact. The entity’s head rips to the side, a line of ectoplasm existing his mouth like spittle…or blood.

“Ho…what the _hell_?” Erin gasps and staggers to a stop, looking down at the wrench as if it had sprouted a snake’s head. That wasn’t expected. What was also unexpected was the ghost taking a swing at Erin that barely misses but proves enough of a distraction for him to grab ahold of his wrench.

Caught in a literal tug of war with a malevolent plumber, Erin does her best to hang on. It was like being on one of those cheap amusement rides at the carnival, the ones the physicist hated so much because of safety issues but Holtz practically salivated to ride. Or maybe a mechanical bull was a better example. Either way, she’s sure to walk away with whiplash.

Since the physicist wasn’t adept at riding anything mechanical one good twist is all it takes to dislodge her grip and send her sideways in a tumbling skid. The noise in the room dulls when her head cracks smartly with the concrete. Everything moves at a molasses pace when she stops on her stomach and attempts to crawl to her knees, dimly aware of the specter making his approach.

Casting about like an overstimulated predator, the plumber first stalks towards a scrambling Patty—the closest standing Ghostbuster near him—before freezing mid-stride. His glance back at Erin is slow. The savage set of his face devolves into icy curiosity, ivory pupils igniting in a red glow that cuts through the distance between them like two resurrected embers.

“You don’t smell like them,” he grates out, turning towards her fully. “Why?”

The statement made absolutely no sense, and Erin didn’t have time to decode it. In three gliding strides the ghost stands over her, curiosity quickly replaced with customary rage. The wrench came down in an arcing sweep, and all Erin can do is squeeze her eyes shut and brace. Somewhere in the back of her mind she wonders how long her hospital stay will be this time. If she even makes it to the hospital. But the blow doesn’t come, and the shock of that snaps the brunette’s eye open.

The wrench idles inches from her face, held aloft by a gloved black hand. Erin’s eyes travel up Abby’s quivering arm to the feral snarl of her best friend’s face. Rarely did she ever become angry enough to bare her teeth, but when she did it was a sure sign things were about to get wild.

“This isn’t whack-a-mole, you ectoplasmic son-of-a-bitch!”

One gloved hand wrapping around the wrench and the other grabbing the ghost by the throat, Abby begins forcing the specter back one step at a time. Patty swings her Chipper around and aims it at the back of the ghost—preparing to suck him into a second, more permanent death—but the entity won’t go without a fight.

Like a tractor beam latching onto an approaching vessel, the ray of Patty’s Chipper snags his ectoplasmic signature. He bellows and screams and twists but Abby won’t let go, can’t let go, holds on for dear life because their very lives depended on it. A proton stream joins the fray, coiling around the ghost’s neck. Holtz has perfect aim, as always, and uses the stream like a rope, pulling the entity closer.

Abby’s sudden wince is missed by her collogues, but she doesn’t relent. It’s not until the gloves encasing her hands spark—the blue glow sputtering like a dying candle— that her furious bellow morphs into a cry of pain the others immediately notice. Still, she pushes, drawing on any reserve strength left in her quivering muscles. Finally, the pull of the Chipper is too much. With one last roaring shriek the plumber disappears into the device and exits as a splash of green goo on the far wall.

“Abby!” Patty rushes over alongside Holtzmann, the latter of the two taking the woman’s hands in her own. Holtz is fast removing the mitts but can’t hold in a string of, “no no no no damn it,” when the researcher’s raw, blistered skin meets the open air.

“Oh shit,” Patty hisses, helping the shorter woman sit.

“Feels about that way,” Abby squeezes out between gritted teeth. She can’t control her shaking and blinks back unwanted tears. There’s no point looking at her hands. She knew what she’d find. The circuits powering the ecto-mitts had overloaded, short circuiting along the exoskeleton, heating the metal. It wasn’t more than a mild case of first and second-degree burns, but Abby’s hands were quickly coming out of nerve shock.

Without a word, Holtzmann lets Abby’s hands drop and whirls out of the room, taking the still sparking proton pack with her. The look on her face is enough to deter anyone from calling after her. Erin takes the blonde’s place, cautiously approaching her best friend, a mix of sickening guilt and warm pride warring in her stomach. In her gloved left hand she holds the ecto-wrench, salvaged from the floor.

“I hope this was worth it,” Abby says shakily, eyeing Erin and the wrench with a disapproving look. It takes everything in the physicist not to sink into herself.

“Abby, I’m—“

The researcher holds up a forestalling hand, wincing as she does. “Not really in the mood for apologies, Erin. Talk to me in about six hours once I’ve got painkillers and liquor in my system.”

“Let’s get you to the couch,” Patty hums gently, doing her best not to shoot Erin a dirty look but not quite managing it.

The two leave Erin standing in the wreckage of a plan gone up in literal flames. She looks down at her clenched left hand, the mechanics in her glowing glove still allowing her to hold onto the ecto-wrench. This was everything she’d ever wanted. Physical proof of a bridge between humans and ghosts. She was literally holding history in her hand, but at what price had she achieved this? Abby wasn’t badly hurt, but they’d all taken a pretty hefty beating today. What was to say next time would be any better? If there even was a next time.

Against her better judgment, against the part of her mind screaming to think of the research, Erin opens her hand and lets the wrench fall soundlessly to the floor. It only takes a few seconds for the tool to deionize, the molecules unable to remain stable in this reality without a power source. With a heavy sigh, Erin deactivates her gloves and heads into the waiting room where Patty has Abby situated on the couch. Holtzmann reappears from upstairs holding an absolutely massive aloe plant above her head like it’s a spiny crown.

“Fear not, my friends,” she says in a forced jovial tone. “I’ve got Chuck!”

“An aloe plant? Seriously?” Patty frowns, not feeling up to jesting. “Just take her to the hospital like a normal person.”

Erin has a mind to agree with Patty, but Holtzmann jumps in before she can speak. “Excuse you,” the blonde gasp with indignation. “There isn’t a burn in this building Chuck Norris can’t defeat!” Holtz almost drops the massive plant when she does a few flashy Karate moves but manages to recover. It does little to lighten the mood.

“It’s okay, Patty,” Abby smiles thinly, elbows resting on her knees so her hands hang

over the side. Two wrapped ice packs sit carefully balanced on the backs of her hands. “Chucks a good plant. Holtz and I have had him since Higgins.”

“You need to see a doctor,” Erin finally interjects, earning looks from two out of the three ‘busters. Holtz is busy tearing off a fat aloe spine.

“Where’s the wrench?” Abby inquires, noting the physicist’s empty hands.

“It deionized,” Erin shrugs, figuring it wasn’t a total lie and fighting not to fidget.

Abby purses her lips, face set in a disbelieving frown. “So we did all this for nothing?”

Erin can’t help feel a scalding flush crawl up her neck and pool in her cheeks. She bears down on her back molars and nods sharply. “Looks about that way.”

"Fucking wonderful,” Patty snorts, rubbing her face.

Unable to stomach her combined embarrassment and shame, Erin retreats to the kitchen, stripping off her gloves and tossing them on the counter. Stopping at the sink—back to anyone who might walk in— she bites her bottom lip to the point she’s sure to leave permanent teeth impressions and starts a backward count from twenty, determined to save face even in the face of glaring failure. Well, not total failure, but still.

Back in the waiting room, Holtzmann fills the awkward silence by taking her place on the coffee table in front of Abby and gingerly spreading around the sticky sap from her plant. She’s methodical, making sure even raw patch and blister gets covered. It wasn’t difficult to tell the engineer was wrestling with her own brand of internal guilt. She’d never willingly give her colleagues—her friends and family—defective devices, but today she’d rushed things and the worst had happened.

“You know, you could have just thrown your aloe plant at the ghost. It’s big enough to cause lasting damage,” Abby comments lightly after settling back against the cushions.

 Holtzmann’s eyes widen in disbelief. “I’d never chuck Chuck at anyone! He’s family. It’d be like chucking Patty at someone.”

“Baby,” Patty shakes her head, sucking her teeth. “I’d like to see you try.”

Holtz wiggles her eyebrows, seeing an opportunity. “Are you giving me permission to touch you?”

“You wanna see how far your dainty ass can fly? I can arrange that.”

“Oooo I like ‘em spicy.”

Abby groans, pushing the engineer away with her elbow before the historian can make a grab for her. Patty wouldn’t hurt Holtz—never in a million years—but noogies and one-sided wrestling matches weren’t out of the question. Patty was also fond of throwing Holtzmann over her shoulder and carrying her places regardless of her protests.

“Stop harassing your fellow collogue.”

“Oh, so me being playful is harassment but Erin pec-grabbing Kevin is normal workplace banter?” Holtz quips, tilting her head to the side and grinning.

“Holtzmann!” Erin gasps, coming out of the kitchen with four cold beers in hand. It’s a measly peace offering but it’s the best she can muster.

“What?” the blonde throws out her arms, still smiling. “It was a solid question!”

“She’s got a point,” Patty admits, taking the offered beer with a curt nod. “Got yah there.”

“The cold can against your hands might help,” Erin says almost meekly to Abby, offering her an already opened beer. The researcher stares at her best friend for a moment before hanging her head and exhaling gustily.

“It’s really hard to stay mad at you when you’ve perfected the art of the puppy pout,” Abby half-smiles, motioning for Erin to join the rest of them. The brunette moves to take a seat beside her girlfriend on the coffee table, but Holtzmann shoves her with a smile onto the cushion next to Abby, offering a wink when met with a light frown.

“I thought I had the best puppy pout,” Holtz complains and demonstrates her technique by turning down the corners of her mouth, opening her eyes as big as they could get, and tucking her chin. The effect, along with the wild mop of curly blonde hair, is quite pathetic and serves to further thaw the ice.

“Who could say no to that face?” Patty coos, ruffling Holtzmann’s hair. In response, the engineer crawls into the historian’s lap like she’s the size of a small dog and not a fully grown woman, nuzzling against Patty’s chest, prompting the taller woman to throw her head back exasperatedly. “You know you’re weird, right? Like, we’re all in agreement this child is strange.”

“But you love me.”

Patty rolls her eyes, smiling all the same while scratching the woman’s head. “Yeah, yeah. You’re lucky you’re cute.”

"I think it’s safe to say we all get the rest of the day off,” Abby eventually says, half way through her beer. Her declaration is met with general agreement and a vow from Patty to cook something for dinner that wasn’t fast food or takeout. The historian had been slowly trying to steer the three women into developing better eating habits, using her skills as an accomplished cook to introduce a wider variety to their diet.

Since Kevin was sent home early due to the experiment taking place in the panic room, Holtz takes it upon herself to close up shop while Patty meanders into the kitchen. Still seated beside one another, Erin and Abby enjoy the silence for a minute more before the physicist finally speaks.

“I’m sorry. We shouldn’t have done this,” she says, rolling the crinkly empty beer can between her palms.

"Is that an admission I was right?” Abby cocks an eyebrow.

“Yes,” Erin mutters, unwilling to make eye contact.

“I’m sorry. What was that?” Abby leans in. Had her hands not been stiff and sore she would have cupped her ear. “One more time.”

“Come on, Abby,” the brunette bristles.

“All right. All right. I’ll take what I can get.” Leaning forward, the researcher sets her equally empty can on the coffee table. “Apology accepted.”

“I don’t want us to continue.” The shock of those words is enough to actually surprise the shorter woman. Erin continues speaking as if she didn’t see the look her best friend was giving her. “It’s too risky, and we’re not exactly trained for extracting objects from entities. It was a stupid idea, and I’m sorry.”

Not mistaking the stricken look on Erin’s face for anything other than what it was, Abby pushes her glasses atop her head, eyes searching the ceiling for something she thought might help. Nothing comes to her, so she powers on ahead.

“It wasn’t a stupid plan.” The admission stalls Erin long enough she hesitates to continue her rant, gaze flicking over to the woman beside her. “I mean, it wasn’t well thought out, but the idea behind it wasn’t stupid. It was far from stupid. It was…kind of amazing.”

Twisting around, Abby tucks one leg under her, careful where she places her hands. “I don’t…want us to stop researching this.” She has to check herself mentally a few times just to be sure she’s not pulling a Holtzmann and being completely crazy. It’s not an effective system of comparison, however, so she resigns to the idea she might just be insane after all.

“But I don’t want to continue if it means any of us getting hurt.”

“We’re Ghostbusters, Erin. We’re gonna get hurt from time to time. But today proved something none of us ever dreamed could be real. I _touched_ a ghost, today. Not only touched it but _kicked its ass with my hands_. And you! You hit him in the face with his own weapon! That’s beyond next level shit. That’s out of this world insane, and,” Abby shifts, a little uncomfortable, “it’d be unscientific of us to turn our backs on this now. I want to research it, but I want us better prepared. We can’t rely on ghosts we have here because apparently our cataloging system isn’t as up to snuff as I thought.”

Erin can’t help but agree with a vigorous nod. Today was an unmitigated disaster they couldn’t afford happening again. If they released something worse than the pissed off T4 plumber it could well be the death of them all, overdramatics be-damned.

“We need to catch ghosts in the wild and bring them back here. After a bust, they’re pretty weak. It would make more sense to harvest ecto-objects then rather than when they’ve had time to recuperate—or whatever it is they do in those containers.”

“Are you sure about this?” Erin struggles to breathe evenly, fidgeting with her hands, unable to contain her hopeful excitement. “Because I want you one-hundred percent okay with this…”

Abby goes to rub the back of her head, realizes that might not be a wise idea, and settles for rubbing her head against the sofa until Erin chuckles and lends a helping hand. “Thank you. And yes, I’m one-hundred percent sure about this, but we’re not going to do anything until those gloves of Holtz are bug free. I’m not doing this again.”

“I’m sorry about your hands.” Erin gently takes Abby’s right hand and takes a closer look, not liking what she sees.

“It’s not really that bad. Not like that time I stayed at your house for Thanksgiving and accidentally put my hand down on that induction-top stove of yours. Now that _hurt._ ”

Erin winces at the memory and the smell accompanying it. Seared flesh almost had a poke-like smell, and she’d never been able to eat ham again.

“Hey!” Patty calls from the kitchen doorway, interrupting the conversation. When the two women look up both stifle a laugh when they see Holtz wrapped around Patty like a backpack, head resting on her shoulder. “You two idiots in the mood for smothered chicken? We got a crap ton of cream of mushroom soup, and Holtzy swears none of it is hers.”

“Who would puree a mushroom into a liquid and call it soup? That’s just nasty,” Holtz says from Patty’s shoulder, making a face and sticking out her tongue.

Abby coughs back a laugh. “We can just order—“

"If you suggest we order take out, I’m going to hide all the Advil in this house,” Patty warns, pointing a spoon at Abby who raises her blistered hands in surrender. “Smothered chicken it is.”

“I wanna brown the meat!” Holtzmann bounced excitedly.

“You ain’t doing that from my back, monkey.”

Patty and her impromptu companion head back into the kitchen quickly followed by Erin and Abby, neither eager to leave all the work for the historian or give Holtz an opportunity to start a grease fire…again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews fuel me. Let me know how I'm doing and what you think!


	6. Done in the Dark

She sits at the edge of her bed, hands bracketing pale, smooth thighs. Head bowed, Erin listens to the creaks and groans of the sleeping firehouse. All buildings, no matter their use or age, breath in their own way. In her younger years, it used to frighten her. Like listening to a monster snore somewhere off in the dark. Now it’s calming, mixing with the city noise drifting through the velvety darkness. The sounds of New York were like breathing: hardly noticeable but utterly vital to the continuation of life.

Sleepless nights weren’t uncommon for Erin. As a child, they used to terrify her. Being awake meant coming face-to-face with the terrors her nights were filled with. If it wasn’t the corpse-like horror standing at the foot of her bed it was the ever-present darkness all children fear. As a young adult—especially during her college years—sleepless episodes used to be an endless source of frustration. Now, drifting into her early forties, Erin learned how to deal with her sleeplessness like any responsible adult would: getting up and resuming activity.

But tonight wasn’t like most nights.

Doing her best not to disturb the woman beside her, Erin rises and pulls on her robe. Pausing by the dresser, she turns and watches her sleeping partner, contented warmth coiling in her stomach. Sometimes it’s difficult to believe this was her life now.

Not willing to waste an opportunity, Erin moves around to Holtzmann’s side of the bed and brushes her forehead with a kiss, muttering, “I love you” against her warm skin. Gentle fingers brush strands of loose hair away from Holtz’s face, a silly smile tugging at the corners of her lips. Then she’s gone, padding downstairs through the dark, knowing the way by heart.

Erin’s hesitation in the doorway extends longer than strictly necessary. There’s a charge to the air, a pregnant kind of anticipation hanging like stubborn incense around her head. From where she stands, Erin can see the industrial aluminum table separated from the others in the lab by a good ten feet. Edging forward—like putting too much pressure on the balls of her feet might set off an alarm—Erin stops at the edge of the table.

It had been Holtzmann’s ingenious idea after days of failure that led to five ecto-objects currently holding residence in the Ghostbuster’s laboratory. After quite a few attempts at stabilizing the objects themselves, Holtz’s overworked, frustrated mind finally found traction.

“I’ll just use the frequency from the gloves and widen its surface area!” the engineer exclaimed excitedly. So excited, in fact, she wraps her arms around Erin and spins her once before kissing her deeply. As par usual, Holtz had done the impossible.

Fingers trailing along the outer edge of the field keeping them corporeal, Erin feels a fizzy tingle race up her arm that she almost mistakes for static before realizing it for what it was.

Want.

She wanted to touch the object nearest to her. Hadn’t that been the entire point of this enterprise? To find out what happened that night on the wharf? That’s what had woken her. That’s what always wakes Erin. The prodding needle for a breakthrough, her mind running haywire with possibilities. 

“They’re a bit hypnotic, aren’t they?”

Erin jumps a solid foot and spins, the table the only thing keeping her standing. “Jesus, Holtz!” she sucks in, surprised her heart hadn’t’ flown out of her mouth.

“They don’t call me the blonde ninja for nothing,” the engineer winks from where she leans propped against the doorway.

Erin struggles to keep both her heart and flush in check. Her girlfriend currently sported a scandalously thin band tee—what was it made out of rice paper? Did they make cotton that thin?—that stopped three inches shy of her belly button and a pair of boyfriend sleepy pants riding low on her hips. “No one calls you the blonde ninja,” she counters weakly.

“You didn’t know me during my college years.” Holtzmann almost thinks she hears a whispered, “Thank god for that,” under Erin breath and chooses to ignore it. “What’s keeping that brilliant mind of yours awake?”

“Kind of obvious,” Erin smiles weakly, pushing the unruly snarl of her bedhead back off her face before motioning at the table.

 Holtzmann nods and crosses the threshold into her lab, arms behind her back. “Ahh, so it’s the spark of excitement keeping you awake.”

“I mean, aren’t you a little excited?” The question wasn’t necessary. Erin knew Holtz was as ecstatic as she was. The engineer demonstrates this with a huge grin.

“Oh, you know it, baby girl.” Rounding a casually cluttered worktable, Holtz snatches up a pair of her now completely functional ecto-mitts and bounces the wrists together. They whir to life, suffusing the small area in phosphorescent blue. Erin raises a questioning eyebrow.

“What say you and I get this party started early?”

More than a light frown creases Erin’s brow. “What, you mean start now? Just us?”

“Just us, sweetheart.” Holtz offers a slow wink that has the opposite effect on Erin’s pulse. God she loved Holtzmann’s winks.

Walking along the table’s edge like she’s playing a game of duck-duck-goose, Holtz trails her fingers over the objects before choosing one at random: a boarding axe the girls harvested off a low-level Viking near Governor’s Island.

“They’re so much lighter than I anticipated,” she muses, turning the weapon over in her hands and peering at Erin through the translucent blade. “Like holding a plastic toy.” Then, adopting a vaguely authoritative voice, Holtz proceeds. “Assistant, please prepare to take dictation.”

Erin’s eyebrows climb into her hairline. “I’m sorry?”

“This is how it’s done in those fancy labs? I wax poetic over my discovery and you, my assistant, scurry to capture every word. Well, I’ve got some poetic waxing to do and you’re not holding a dictation pen. Ha! Dick-pen…English is a weird language.”

Not really knowing what else to do but feeling more than a little amused by her girlfriend’s antics, Erin makes like she’s readying a pad and paper, clicking an invisible pen in nodding for Holtz to continue.

"Ah good. We’re ready then. Subject 90210—“

"Seriously Jill?”

"What? I needed a sporty number,” Holtzmann sniffs. “And you’re doing a horrible job as an assistant, interrupting greater minds.”

Erin rolls her eyes and pretends to jot down what Holtz is saying, falling into step behind her. Not for the first time she wonders about her life and the woman she’s chosen to spend it with.

“Where was I? Ah yes. Subject 90210, harvested from a Viking two steps too far from Valhalla. The ecto-objects appears to have no physical mass yet contains a form of solid structure. This could be a result of the ectoplasm comprising much of its structure, but more tests will need to be concluded. Am I doing this right? I literally have no idea what I’m doing.”

“Oh, you’re doing a wonderful impression of the arrogant assholes I used to work for,” Erin smiles sweetly. “Keep going. I think you’re onto something _Doctor Holtzmann_.”

Holtz sucks in part of her upper lip and nods appreciatively. “Your observation has been noted. Please continue.”

“After you,” Erin waves airily, not about to call a stop to this.

“Little research has been conducted on this phenomenon, but it is theorized that certain objects may be handled by non-ectoplasmic beings, a find spearheaded by the exquisitely ravishing Doctor Erin Gilbert.” Erin feels her cheeks flush at the compliment but adheres to her role and ‘jots’ it down with an even expression. “Further experimentation is necessary to corroborate said theory, which is why Test Subject One has joined me.”

This time Erin does look up, evidently surprised. “What?”

Holtz expertly flips the weapon like it was one of her wrenches and holds it out for Erin to take.

“You have to be joking.”

“We were going to test exactly this running theory tomorrow morning,” Holtz rationalizes.

“Yes, with Abby and Patty present. Not in the middle of the night.”

“Where’s your sense of adventure?”

“Firmly planted in the scientific method,” Erin laughs in disbelief.

“You caught that axe in the warehouse. What’s the harm in seeing if we can get lightning to strike twice?”

This isn’t safe. This isn’t their tried and true scientific theory, the backbone to all levels of research. Observe. Question. Hypothesize. Experiment. Analysis and conclusion. There were steps put in place for a reason, but here Holtz was blowing past them as par usual, ready to grab the tail of the lightning bolt.

"Come on,” that same woman urges. “Let’s light up the night.”

The moment Erin attempts to voice her unwillingness to participate she stops. Oh, she wants to say no, but she also wants to say yes. Yes to discovery. Yes to adventure.   It’s strange. The closer she gets to the object the brighter its aura glows…almost like its being charged. And what’s more, Erin’s body seems to be reacting in a similar fashion, like a key being slowly pushed into a lock. It felt right.

Like alignment.

Like connection.

Like a missing puzzle piece.

Her hand reaches for the weapon…

A warning siren shrills in Erin’s mind. She snatches herself back so fast she actually winds up slapping her chest. It even startles Holtzmann who replaces the axe and strips off her mitts, looking alarmed.

"Baby, are you okay?” She takes the physicist’s hand and checks it for possible injury.

"Yeah, I…” Erin can’t find the words and blinks a half dozen times, chewing her bottom lip. “I’m not sure we should be doing this without the others. We don’t…we don’t know what will happen. Maybe nothing. Maybe I’ll go ghost and attack you.”

The absurdity of her worry makes Erin laugh but only enough to barely shake the unease crawling up her spine. _Woman up, Gilbert_ , the cynical side of herself scoffs. _What’s discovery without a little danger?_

“I’m sorry.” Holtz moves to drop Erin’s hand, looking self-conscious. “I shouldn’t have pushed.”

“You wouldn’t be you if you didn’t,” Erin reassures, threading their fingers together and putting the ecto-objects out of her mind for the moment. “And you wouldn’t be yourself if you weren’t a terrible influence on me.”

"That’s the best kind of influence,” Holtz replies, drawing Erin closer until their bodies touch. She tucks into Holtz, nuzzling just under her chin with a contented sigh. They remain like that for a few beats before a chill runs up her back.

“Is it cold in here or just me?”

A chuckle shakes Holtzmann’s chest, rolling low in her throat. “Stealing my pickup lines now?”

“That was a legitimate question.”

“I don’t know, maybe it’s me. Maybe I’m the trumpet to your walls of Jericho,” the engineer suggests. “I aim to make you tremble.”

Erin snorts and does her best not to roll her eyes, pulling away. “Did you just use a biblical pickup line to skirt my question?”

Holtzmann doesn’t let the taller woman go far, grabbing the front of her robe and pulling her back with a firm yank. “Only time I’ve ever heard you invoke a deity is when you’re under me.”

Erin shivers despite herself and the rooms cool temperature, loving the wolfish grin spreading across the blonde’s face. She walks the fingers of her free hand up Holtz’s chest. A soft tug at the engineer’s earlobe earns a soft growl in response. “That still doesn’t answer my question.”

"The ecto-objects.” Holtz nods in the direction of the table. “I guess with them all bunched together like that they’re sucking the ambient energy out of the air. Makes it colder, though I’m not complaining. Makes me want to find someplace warm to curl up.”

The engineer breathes her final words against the column of Erin’s neck, lips barely ghosting across her smooth skin. Erin closes her eyes and tilts her head ever so slightly. It’s an invitation not lost on the blonde. Holtz trails a few feather-light kisses along the physicist’s jaw before capturing her lips with her own.

Backed into the nearest table, Erin doesn’t suppress the moan that bubbles low in her throat when Holtz’s tongue slips past her teeth, eager for exploration. She gladly allows entrance, her fingers tangling in the engineer’s hair. The sensation of Erin pulling against her scalp drives Holtz forward with another growl, her teeth sinking playfully into Erin’s bottom lip.

It starts slowly. Lazily. Teasingly. Hands wander and tongues roam, but before long the simmering heat banks into a hot fire. Their kisses shift from languid into something hungrier. Needy. Desperate.

In a swift motion, Holtzmann has Erin up on one of the lab tables. Hopefully nothing swept to the floor in the transference is valuable or volatile. If nothing poofed, it likely wasn’t. The shock of being lifted and settled leaves Erin slightly breathless, but it does provide her enough of a break to tighten her grip on Holtz’s hair and jerk the woman’s head sideways. She attaches herself to the blonde’s neck like a starving vampire, sure to leave marks by sunrise.

There’s no preamble or longing gazes when the robe is pushed off Erin’s shoulders. The trail of Holtzmann’s fingertips pebble Erin’s skin, drawing the physicist into her touch like metal shavings to a magnet. Holtz starts at the hollow of Erin’s throat and kisses her way slowly southbound, fingers trailing the swoop of the older woman’s back and back up again, ensuring the muscles remain taught like a bow string.

At the gap between Erin’s breasts, Holtz switches between lavishing each nipple with tooth and tongue and kneading them with her hands as if partitioning permission from a gatekeeper to pass. Permission eagerly granted if Erin’s panting sighs are anything to go by.

When she reaches Erin’s belly button and the top of her sensibly plane bikini-cut underwear, Holtz pauses, casting a cocky, questioning glance up at her partner. Erin’s response is to hook her thumbs under the elastic waistband and slide them down below her knees, allowing gravity to do the rest. Spreading her legs further, Erin plants her palms on the cold metal behind her just enough to lift her hips.

The first drag of Holtz’s tongue between Erin’s cleft is enough to make her locked arms tremble. The moan that slips past her lips tangles with a breathy sigh that grows into something of a low keen the longer Holtz draws patterns with her tongue.

The engineer knows her craft and knows her partner even better. Each flick of her tongue, each delve into Erin’s hot opening, each point of suction and scrape of teeth is done so with almost clinical precision. She listens to Erin pant and whine. Listens to arousal turn her inside out, and revels in the moment.

Erin’s first shuddering climax comes out as a strangled gasp, a breath stalled halfway into her lungs. Holtz grins against the wash of briny warmth coating her chin and dribbling down into the table. Oops. She’d have to clean that up by morning.

Arm thrown over her eyes, Erin attempts to catch her breath but there’s no chance for recovery. Catching the other woman in the haze of post-orgasm, Holtz quickly coats two of her fingers in the brunette’s arousal before pushing them past her opening and curling high.

Erin’s reaction is immediate and powerful. Caught off guard, she arches almost fully off the table. When her body reconnects, her hands grip the edges, chest heaving in rhythm with the relentless pace of Holtzmann’s thrusts.

“Shit,” Erin manages to hiss between heaving gasps that were quickly wicking the moisture from her throat. “Jesus _fuck,_ baby!”

“There you go again,” Holtzmann chuckles, positioning herself so she’s almost laying across her partner, peppering Erin’s stomach and hips with kisses. “Invoking a deity when you’re under me.”

"Bite me,” the physicist groans through a torturously long drag of Holtz’s fingers along her inner walls, hitting sensitive ridges with the tips of her nails.

"Oh ho ho, don’t like being proven—“

"No, fucking _bite me_ ,” Erin pleads roughly.

_Oh!_

Holtz’s grin turns sharp once again, but not as sharp as the bite she sinks into the older woman’s skin just above her hip. It’s a hard bite, one that will bruise, but both women are aware of that. Erin’s cry is loud enough people on the street were bound to take notice. Thank god Wednesday evenings in the firehouse were shared by only Holtz or Erin elsewise they’d have Abby or Patty thundering in here thinking someone was being murdered.

The engineer repositions herself and bites the soft flesh of Erin’s inner thigh. She does this one more time on the opposite side before she feels Erin clamp down around her fingers. Knowing her cue, Holtz quickly adds in a third them hard. Erin’s cries hit a cataclysmic peak punctuated with a strangled “ _Fuck!_ ” just before her grip on the table edges goes iron and her back bows.

 Holtz continues to pump until she feels the woman relax, slowing her rhythm until finally dragging her soaked fingers out. She doesn’t bother cleaning the pearlescent residue from them, smearing it instead across the physicist’s slack thigh, devilish grin in place.

“My, you make a mess.”

“Your…fault,” Erin pants dreamily from the flat of her back.

“I take full credit,” Holtz laughs lightly. In a move Erin couldn’t hope to duplicate unless she was ten years younger, the engineer vaults onto the table and straddles her hips, bringing their lips together in a deep kiss. “I love our midnight lab rendezvous. Who would have thought Doctor Tiniest-bow-ties Gilbert would be into table sex.”

“What can I say,” Erin grins up at her girlfriend, pupils blown wide. “You’re a terrible influence on me.”

They embrace for a moment longer before Erin complains about the table edge digging into the back of her knees. Holtz helps her sit up, but then Erin’s smiling slyly and grabbing the front of the engineer’s shirt, pulling her into bruising kiss. It comes as a jolting surprise when Erin’s right hand slithers past the waistband of Holtz’s low-riding pants, fingers seeking and finding the river rock slickness waiting there.

 "Seems I’m not the only one in need of satisfying,” the physicist breathes into Holtz’s ear, and it’s all the younger woman can do to keep her balance as she’s tugged along by her girlfriend until they both fall into bed in a tangled mess.

* * *

 

 

Neither woman wakes with their first alarm or their second. By the third, Erin can’t ignore three things: the insistent beeping of her bedside clock, the patter of rain against her windows, and the pressure in her bladder. Sitting up with a groan, the physicist blinks and rubs her eyes. Outside, the world bleeds in streaks of gray, beads of water cutting down the cool glass. Beside her, Holtz makes a similar begrudging sound and rolls onto her stomach, face buried in her pillow.

“Five more minutes.”

Erin smiles and leans down, tucking stray strands of brown hair behind her ear as she kisses the top of Holtzmann’s head. “I’ll give you six since I’m feeling generous.”

"You’re a goddess,” comes the groggy reply.

Erin hums her pleased response and swings herself out of bed. As expected, she aches in the pleasant ways a body aches after a night of good sex. Doubtless there are bruises staining her pale skin. The thought quirks up one side of her lips.

Six minutes turns into twenty, and when Erin returns to her room towel-drying her hair Holtzmann is gone. Not surprisingly, the physicist finds her by following her nose down to the kitchen where her girlfriend sits enjoying handfuls of cereal out of the box while seated on the counter. A fresh pot of coffee waits for Erin beside her.

"We have a table, you know,” the brunette playfully scoffs, pouring herself a steaming cup and cutting the bitterness with liberal additions of milk and sugar.

"Tables are formal,” Holtz explains between chewing, mouth already overstuffed with Frosted Flakes. “Breakfast isn’t a formal event.”

Erin raises an eyebrow at the blonde over the rim of her mug.

“We live in New York, baby,” the engineer smirks. “Breakfast here is done fast and dirty. Kind of like last night.”

Erin feels her cheeks begin to warm but her retort is silenced when the kitchen door opens and Abby steps through, shaking water from her shoulders and shrugging out of her raincoat.

"God, someone alert the pound. It’s raining cats and dogs out there.”

"Morning,” Erin greets, raising her mug.

"Off to a late start?” Abby notes Holtz hasn’t changed from her pajamas and Erin’s hair is still wet. Usually the two were up and working before nine.

"Something like that,” Holtz smirks until her eyes alight on a bag clutched in Abby’s hand. She claps excitedly. “Ooo! What’d yah bring me?”

Abby makes a forestalling gesture and digs out a fresh beagle. She passes one to both women before joining Erin at the kitchen table. Holtz remains on the counter, legs swinging happily.

"Any messages overnight?”

Erin shakes her head, enjoying her first few bites of breakfast. “Nothing to report. It’s been quiet lately. I wonder if that means the ley lines have settled down.”

"We could only be so lucky,” Abby grouses between bites.

"Think of it as job security,” Holtzmann suggests. “Like morticians. Everyone dies at some point. I guess that kind of makes us the morticians of the morticians on account we hunt the dead who once prepared the dead. Whoa,” she leans back, intrigued by her own soliloquy. “That’s like… two types of death. We’re the Grim Reaper _to the Grim Reapers_.”

"Girl, you best lay off the coffee or switch to decaf. No one needs heavy thinking like that first thing in the morning.”

All eyes turn towards the main door as Patty shuffles in, ensconced in perhaps the loudest purple raincoat any of the ‘busters have seen in living color. Behind her trudges a soaked Kevin, the receptionist looking very unhappy.

"Found him standing outside looking like a drowned rat.”

"Kevin,” Abby makes a face somewhere between disbelief and worry. “What happened this time?”

"Forgot my keys,” he sighs, a large puddle forming under his feet. “Pinned them to the wrong underwear. Thought today was Monday.”

"Why didn’t you knock? Erin and Holtz were here.”

"I did. I said knock three times and no one answered.”

Abby twists around to look back at Erin but then realizes what Kevin said and pauses. “You _said_ knock? You didn’t actually knock?”

“Well, yeah,” the muscular man shuffles his feet, looking confused. “I didn’t want to actually knock.”

Abby looks almost hesitant to ask. “ _Why_?”

"Well, because you might think I was a villain. Like in the three little pigs. The wolf always knocked. I didn’t what you guys to think I was someone bad.”

Behind Abby, Erin sucks in her lips and tries to hide her smile, the effect making her look like she was grimacing.

"Ah Kev,” Holtz chuckles, sliding down from her perch and sauntering over. “We’d never mistake you for anyone but you.”

"What if I was wearing a mask?”

"You don’t have the aura of a killer.”

Looking slightly mystified, Kevin raises one of his arms and sniffs. “Is it because I put on deodorant?”

"Oh my sweet heavy lord,” Patty mutters, covering her face with her hands.

"Exactly the reason, mah man. Come on. Let’s find you a fresh jumpsuit to wear while your clothes dry.” Holtz leads the now beaming receptionist away.

"Remind me again what you saw in that?” Abby leans into Erin, nudging her in the ribs with her elbow.

"Aesthetic. I swear it had to be that,” Erin mutters into her mug.

Once Kevin is returned to his desk wearing a fresh jumpsuit—Holtz wrote his name on a strip of white duct tape to make him appear official—the girls eat their fill of breakfast before making their way into Holtzmann’s lab. A few minutes of debate leave all four women with tasks to accomplish before the fun of the day begun.

"You spill something over here?” Patty squints at the edge of a metal table coated in a suspiciously milky film, choosing to deposit her armload of equipment further away. Erin almost does a spit-take at her desk but manages to swallow her coffee with only minimal choking. Luckily, Holtz is faster on the draw.

"Yeah. Just lubrication for the cooling system. Must not have gotten it all. I was _wrist deep_ in hottest cryo-system last night. Would not believe the mess it made. Lucky, I came away with my fingers intact.”

Holtzmann doesn’t have to turn to know Erin’s staring daggers at the back of her head while she radiates a flush capable of being seen from the Hubble. For her part, Patty shrugs and leaves it be. Abby, on the other hand, shoots Erin a look that the physicist studiously ignores in lieu of her own _very important work at hand_.

"I’m going to get the AV system set up,” she says with forced chipperness after enduring Abby’s gaze for a few seconds more.

"Want some help?” Holtz offers, popping her head up from behind one of her work benches, soldering goggles shielding her eyes and hair wild.

"No, thank you. I’m perfectly capable.”

It takes hardly any time to get the cameras and tripods situated around the ecto-table. Abby insisted on two cameras in case something happened to the first. No one argues. They’d already lost half a dozen cameras that year from Holtz experiments going wrong. Once up and on, all four women gather around, but when the chips are finally down Erin’s confidence flags and she folds.

“I don’t…exactly know what I’m doing,” she deflates with a short breath. Erin hated cameras. Avoided them at all costs unless it was necessary. Hell, she didn’t even like using a webcam half the time. It just felt strange and impersonal talking to the eye of a camera. Usually it was Holtzmann who took over technical explanations.

“Talk like you’re talking to your parents.” At the strangled look Erin gives Abby, the researcher amends her suggestion. “Okay, bad idea. Talk like you’re talking to your students. There you go! Make it out like you’re giving a lecture.”

“Why can’t you do this?” Erin whines.

“Because this was _your_ brainchild. Woman up, Gilbert.”

“Fine,” Erin huffs and fixes her hair for the fifth time and smooths her button-down blouse.

“And we are…rolling,” Holtz beams after getting a go-ahead nod from Erin, shooting off finger guns.

“This is Doctor Erin Gilbert,” Erin begins in a stilted manner, doing her best to look at the camera and not fidget. “Accompanying me are Doctor Abigale Yates,  Doctor Jillian Holtzmann, and Historian Patricia Tolan. Today is,” she checks the calendar on the wall, “September 23rd at approximately 2:54 Eastern Standard Time. My colleges and I are preparing to perform our first skin-to-ectoplasmic test.”

“You wanna run through what we discovered for the people at home?” Abby suggests, coming around to stand next to Erin.

“Probably a good idea, yes.” Erin clears her throat, speaking to the camera again. “Approximately two weeks ago, I and my colleagues made the discovery that skin-to-ectoplasmic contact was possible. We have amassed a small collection of ecto-objects to test whether this was an isolated event or if the effects can be recreated in a controlled environment. We will begin those tests now.”

“In honor of this momentous occasion, I would like to be the first to test our running hypotheses,” Holtzmann declares, stripping off her ecto-mitts with all the eagerness of a child ready to make fresh snowballs in the schoolyard.

"Huh-uh. Absolutely not. I object.” Patty physically puts herself between the engineer and the table. “The last thing we need is for you to turn out like Erin and wind up scaling Lady Liberty.”

“What makes you think I haven’t already?” Holtz wiggles her eyebrows like a cheesy cartoon character and winks in the direction of the camera.

Patty rolls her eyes, sighing for the hundredth time that day. “Man, can’t we have a normal conversation that doesn’t involve innuendos?”

Holtzmann rocks back, feigning shocked disbelief. “Patricia, how was anything I just said even the slightest bit sexual?” The blonde wags a finger at the taller woman. “Young lady, you should get your mind out of the gutter.”

Abby sputters with laughter beside them while Erin fights to keep from covering her face with her hands. For once, Patty looks at a loss for words, dropping her arms.

"You know what? I’m just gonna let you crazy motherfuckers do your white people nonsense. Light yourselves on fire, for all I care. Patty ain’t cleaning up your messes today.”

"Love you, Pattycake,” Holtz blows a kiss which the historian returns with a raised middle finger.           

 _"_ Come on you two, be serious. We _are_ recording this,” Erin chastises, a flush working into her cheeks.

"Nothing that can’t be cleaned up in post-editing,” Holtz shoots back. “Now, let’s get this party started.”

There’s no hesitation from Holtzmann. Not the slightest hint of second thought when she reaches down into the containment field and curls her fingers around the bat sitting closest to her. But the edges of her grin wilt into a soured frown when her pale fingers glide through the ectoplasmic matter like smoke. A second try yields the same results, as does a third.

"Are you freaking kidding me?” she bemoans, dropping down until most of her weight is supported on the edge of the table by her elbows. “That’s totally not fair! Out of all of us, who would you expect to get superpowers? Tiniest bowties or radioactive me? The universe sucks.”

"Really?” Patty deadpans.

“I can’t decide whether I’m disappointed or relieved.” Abby pauses and then snorts hard enough she almost loses her glasses down the bridge of her nose. “What the hell am I saying? No radioactive, super powered Holtz? That’s a blessing from god.”

“You don’t believe in god,” Holtz mutters, fruitlessly dipping her fingers into the ectoplasmic bat. Aside from feeling cold, there was no reaction.

"Doesn’t mean I can’t thank the flying spaghetti monster for not turning you into a mutant.”

“But I want to be a mutant! I want Processor X to come and try to convince me to join the X-Men. Now I’ll never be a superhero.”

"You’re my superhero if that counts for anything.” Erin can’t help herself and smiles over at her girlfriend, trying hard not the laugh at her pouting.

"Not the same, but thank you,” Holtz mutters, kicking at the floor.

"Easy there, sparky,” Patty pats Holtz’s shoulder when she trudges by and throws herself down on the couch. “You’re still too cool for school.”

Holtzmann doesn’t respond, so Patty shrugs and fills the void by stepping forward and trying her luck. Like the engineer, her fingers glide through the rosary the group harvested from a troublesome priest in Greenwich Village.

"Guess it’s gloves for me from this point on. See, Holtzy? You’re not alone.”

The engineer raises her index finger and twirls it in the universal sign for ‘whoopty-do’.

"So how do you want to do this?” Abby turns an expectant eye to Erin, waiting to see what the ringleader of their little experiment would do now that it was down to two.

Anxiety and anticipation jockey for attention in the physicist’s mind, new questions and worries cropping up like weeds through fresh asphalt. They were standing on the cusp of something great but leaping into the unknown could prove dangerous. Or fatal.

But without risk there was no reward.

It doesn’t take much to see the resolve settle in Erin’s face when she finally reaches a decision. She skirts the table, eyes tracking over each object. A bat from Harlem. A rosary from Greenwich. An axe from Governor’s Island. A pen from Time Square. A single coin from Chelsea.

Erin slows and takes a closer look at the coin. It’s the size of a silver dollar. Innocuous. Almost plain. She reaches for it like she reached for the axe last night only there are no warning bells. No sirens. No visible hesitation because while the rest of the objects are intriguing this one felt _right_. 

The effects are instantaneous and jarring. Cold electricity races up Erin’s arm and explodes across her chest and back in waves of static. Once the sensation hits her bloodstream, she’s soaring again, the world slowing as it snaps into higher definition focus like a powerful lens clicking into place. Erin’s vaguely aware of a sharp, metallic-like menthol taste in the back of her throat similar to the sensation of drinking something cold after chewing mint gum.

"Oh whoa,” she exhales with a quivering giggle, tumbling over her words. Her second encounter with an ecto-object is proving no less powerful than her first. The only difference being the physicist knew what to brace for and does.

"I guess this proves it wasn’t a fluke.” Her statement is directed at Abby. Opening her palm, Erin marvels at the coin. She had no idea what time era it came from—Patty could tell her, no doubt—but that wasn’t the point. The point was, Erin Gilbert, one of the most celebrated particle physicists of her time, was holding an ectoplasmic object meant to exist solely in the supernatural realm. Again. The how and why would come later. Right now, all she could feel was excitement and awe.

"Well shit,” is all Abby can manage to choke out, looking between Erin and the ecto-coin. Truth be told, she had her doubts about the events in the warehouse. Too many variables, but now all her theories were dust.    

“You okay, jitter-bug?” Patty inquires, giving the shorter woman a slightly worried look. Erin had yet to put down the ecto-object.

"Perfectly fine,” she grins, blue eyes sparkling as she flips the coin into the air and catches it, holding tight. “Never better, actually. Spectacular.”

“What are you feeling right now?” Abby adopts a clinical tone, determined to continue to adhere to her role as researcher.

"Like I could do laps around this city and never get tired,” Erin answers honestly. It was growing easier for her to concentrate on one thing at a time, the overstimulation gradually lessening so long as she kept her focus.

"Are you feeling the same sensations as before?”

"Yes and no. Yes, the initial contact produced a very powerful…euphoric sensation.”

“So a high,” Holtz supplies, watching the events unfold with her chin cradled in her hands.

Erin takes a moment to chew and swallow the word. “Good way of putting it, yeah. The initial impact of skin-to-ecto contact seems to be lessening slightly the longer I hold on to it. It’s almost like I’m stabilizing.”

Abby frowns, jotting that down in her notes before moving to circle Erin. She wasn’t a doctor. God only knew her range of medical know-how was limited to patching up non-threatening injuries and knowing the basics of human physiology. That didn’t stop her from using her brain for basic deduction, however.

She stops in front of Erin and plants her hands on her hips, scrutinizing the taller woman. “The blue of your eyes seems a little brighter, but your pupils aren’t nearly as retracted as they were the first time. How’s your eyesight?”

"That’s a weird question,” Erin laughs, rocking from foot to foot.

"This is a weird situation.”

"Point. Umm…okay. Well…” Erin looks around and tries to gauge whether or not she can feel a difference. “Things seems normal save for the fact everything’s extremely sharp. Vivid, almost…maybe? It’s hard to say.”

"What about your heart rate? Last time your pulse was through the roof.”

“Allow me,” Holtz interjects and slides off the couch to put two fingers against Erin’s jugular. She spares her girlfriend a wink in the process, her own sour mood lessening. “Elevated but more like the ‘I’ve just run to catch a cab’ elevated rather than the ‘I’ve just done a bump of cocaine and chugged a redbull’ elevated.”

"Something tells me you know exactly what that feels like.” Patty side-eyes Holtz. The blonde does a small shoulder wiggle but doesn’t elaborate further.

"And then there was one.” Holtz turns to Abby with an expectant look tinted with a hint of mischief. “You gonna join the club or be a square nerd forever?”

Abby looks down at herself and then back up at Holtz. “There’s nothing square about me, honey.”

"If it’s bothering you that much,” Erin says, picking up on Abby’s hesitance despite her best efforts to hide it, “you don’t have to do it.”

“Like hell she doesn’t,” Patty snaps, crossing her arms. “If I had to do it she has to do it.”

"Patty’s right. If everyone’s jumping off the bridge, I need to do it too. Mama didn’t raise no quitter.” Abby forces out a tight laugh, rubbing the back of her neck. She would participate and be a team player because she was a researcher, goddamnit, and this was groundbreaking work, but fuck if she didn’t have her reservations.

Stepping up to the table like she’s about to play a game of roulette, Abby surveys her options—pick your poison kind of options— and makes a quick decision. She reaches for the boarding axe, biggest of the objects, before rationality can catch back up with her, not expecting anything to happen.

The second Abby’s fingers curl around the handle her entire body seizes like she’d received a powerful electric shock. It’s enough to make her muscles cramp, every iota of air sucked from her lungs. Abby jerks back, taking the axe with her in a white-knuckled hand, and has enough time to realize what’s happening, eyes huge and round behind her glasses, before they roll into the back of her head and she hits the floor.    

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews help fuel the machine. Please let me know what you think!


	7. Reckless

“I can’t get her hand to unclasp!” Erin struggles against Abby’s locked fingers, but the researcher’s digits might as well have been made of marble, frozen in place around the handle.

The second Abby hit the floor the other three were moving, experiment abandoned. Abby wasn’t seizing, but the muscles in her right arm appeared to have locked. Only Patty is able to wedge a finger under the seam between Abby and the axe handle with the aid of her ecto-mitts and prying it away. Erin swoops in and puts the axe and coin back on the table, practically throwing them away from her in the process as she returns to her best friend’s side.

“Abby, come on girl. Come on back,” Patty gently calls, patting the researcher’s face.

“She’s not waking up,” Erin panics.

“Give her a second to come round.”

 It’s a solid twenty seconds of frozen dread until Abby comes back to consciousness like an overdramatic Dracula—almost colliding with Erin in the process—sitting bolt upright with a deep enough gasp it was a wonder the ambient oxygen wasn’t sucked from the room. She twists in place, slow to focus and even slower to calm down.

“Holy fucking shit! Jesus in a chocolate manger!” Abby pants, attempting to scramble to her feet, but Patty grabs her and pulls her back down.

“Whoa, whoa, baby girl. Walk before you run. You took a nasty fall. How you feeling?”

“I—I—I did?” Her words were like Erin’s the first time she caught the ecto-axe, jumbled and rushed. She can’t seem to focus on one particular thing, head snapping back and forth like an overeager hound.

“Yeah. Hit the floor like a sack of flour,” Holtz explains, coming around with the camera.

"Holtzmann, put that away! This is serious,” Erin admonishes, waving her girlfriend back.

“Gotta document everything, Er. It’s for science.”

Erin contemplates taking the camera but her attention’s drawn back to Abby when the researcher suddenly grabs her arm with impressive strength. “Holy shit, I’m going blind!”

"What!?” Erin grabs her best friend’s face and leans in close, looking for what she couldn’t say. She wasn’t a doctor—well, not medically—but it seemed like the appropriate thing to do. What she finds makes her heart skip a beat.

“I umm…” Abby squints and leans away, removing her glasses only to put them back on, face scrunched in a confused frown. Slowly, she lowers them and actually takes the time to look around. “I think I might have misspoke.”

“Elaborate a little more, baby. You can still see?” Patty frowns, squatting beside Abby.

“Uh, yep. Yep, I can see.” Some of the tension leaves the room, but not much. Holtz, however, catches on quickest.

“How _well_ can you see?”

“I can count the pores on your nose. Jesus, when was the last time you exfoliated?”

"Those are Sebaceous filaments and they are supposed to be there,” Holtz sniffs, hitching her hip on the nearest table, camera still rolling.

“Abby, I…” Erin begins but trails off, expression unreadable. She tries to speak again but can’t find the words, merely staring at her best friend. Abby immediately becomes nervous.

“What? What’s wrong?”

“You’re…eyes.” Erin carefully turns her towards the light of the windows just to be sure she’s actually seeing what she’s seeing.

"Don’t leave me hanging here, Gilbert. What about them? Can’t really see my peepers with my peepers.”

"They’ve gone _blue_.”

"No way!” Holtz slides over, peering over Erin’s shoulders with the camera and zooming in. Sure enough, the researcher’s green eyes were now a vibrant blue, almost to the point of glowing. “Well hot damn, look at you, Miss Teen Wolf. Got you some impressive peepers. Any fangs to go with them?”

Abby bats Holtzmann’s hand away when the blonde leans in and attempts to pull up her lip. “I’ll bite you regardless. Don’t know where your fingers have been.”

"Kinky,” Holtz winks.

Grabbing a small compact mirror from her desk, Erin hands it to Abby so she could see what they all were seeing.

“Holy shit…” she exhales, tugging down her lower eyelid. “That’s beyond wild.”

"Feel different anywhere else?”

"Umm…” Abby slowly climbs to her feet with help from Erin and Patty, arms out for balance just in case she needed it. She flexes her fingers and rolls her muscles, testing to see if anything felt off or enhanced. “Aside from my heart beating like a drum, I feel fine. Like, _really_ fine.”

“That’s what I felt,” Erin says excitedly, holding back the urge to bounce on the balls of her feet. She was feeling good. Damn good. Better than she had in days, in fact, and this translated into the jittery eagerness to move. _Is this what Holtz feels like daily?_ she wonders, stealing a glance at her girlfriend. _Man, I could get used to this._

"Jeez, you weren’t kidding,” Abby exhales shakily, keeping herself in check as much as possible. After Erin’s stint with her first ecto-object, Abby had an idea of what was happening and how to combat the energy. “I feel like I could run a marathon. No wonder you ran home that night, holy crap.”

"So,” Holtz interjects, moving the camera eye between the two, stretching out the word. “We’ve established that two out of the four Ghostbusters have superpowers—“

"We don’t have superpowers,” Erin rolls her eyes, still not entirely convinced Abby was okay.

"Totally have superpowers despite Dr. Gilbert’s adamant denial otherwise,” Holtz rephrases. “But what exactly can you two _do_?”

The question hung unanswered in the air, drawing the four into a nervous kind of contemplation. It was a good question which raised more of its kind than needed answers. What exactly did all of this mean? Did they really have superpowers, as cliché as that sounded? Or was this just a byproduct of touching live ecto? But more importantly, why was this all happening now?

"We really can’t conclude anything without… _testing_ it,” Erin admits, feeling like the word left her tongue tingling. She struggles to keep a thoughtful face, wanting so badly to grin at the idea of seeing how far down the PKE rabbit hole went.  

"In action movies, usually when the heroes,” Holtzmann motions to the four of them, ignoring a muttered, “You and me ain’t got powers, Holtzy,” from Patty, “they go out and do a field test. Like in X-Men, when they train under the mansion.”

“Do you see a training room anywhere in here?” Abby motions to the whole of the firehouse. “Cause I’m pretty sure if there was an underground gym somewhere you’d have been all over that from the get-go.”

“I think,” Erin hedges, bouncing from foot to foot, “and I can’t believe I’m actually saying this, but we need to follow Holtz’s lead on this one.”

"Really?” The question comes from three sets of mouths simultaneously.

"I mean, if you think about it, all we know right now is that Abby and I can touch ectoplasmic substances and that doing so gives our bodies a boost of energy and _some_ enhancements. But is that the whole of it?”

"I don’t know about you,” Abby admits, rubbing the back of her head, “but I’m kind of on the fence. While this is cool as shit, don’t get me wrong, I don’t want to start running faster than a speeding bullet around New York.”

"I can’t really see a drawback to running tests,” Erin frowns.

"Really?” Patty deadpans. She ticks off two points on her fingers. “One: there’s the government to worry about. You know, people who would _love_ to get their hands on technology that could _enhance_ someone. I think there are like a thousand movies about why it would be a terrible idea to give ourselves away. And two, think about the civilian panic you’d create. People in this city don’t need super powered _anything_ sprinting around the damn block. You wanna cause a mass panic? That’s how you cause a mass panic.”

"We can’t just sit on this information,” Erin argues stubbornly.

"And we won’t.” Abby holds up a placating hand. “We’ve got plenty of privacy here. Let’s start small and move from there.”

It was a good plan, and for the most part they stick with it. Kept things small. Did little tests to better gauge the limits of whatever enhancements PKE provided, while Holtz and Patty filmed and gave suggestions. Pulses were taken. Physical changes documented. Theories penned. Calculations started. Experiments run…within reason.

As it turned out, Abby and Erin seemed to have become polar opposites of one another. Abby acquired more physical enhancement. Erin still maintained a heightened level of speed and dexterity and a better handle over ecto-objects, but Abby possessed strength that would make most strongmen weep. When asked to see if she could lift Erin’s desk—for shits and giggles, according to Holtz—not only did Abby hoist it well above her head with little trouble, she almost sent herself toppling backward in the process, expecting the weight to be far more of a challenge.

“Well shit!” Patty clapped excitedly next to her awestruck friends, her own reservations ebbing away the longer she watched. “Got ourselves our very own Hulk minus that anger issues. Hot damn!”   

The experiments carried into different territories, forming more theories by the second, which Erin hastily scribbled down on her whiteboard. Her mind moved at a consistent high speed that had her breaking through advanced equations in minutes instead of hours or days. It was incredible.     

By midafternoon, they’d transitioned to handling inanimate objects to see if Erin and Abby’s ionized state—a term coined by Abby early on for lack of a better explanation—effected the world around them. Holtzmann casually tossed a baseball at Abby, which the researcher caught with nonchalant ease. She’d meant to throw it back gently only the baseball launched like a bullet the second it left her hand. Abby didn’t even have a chance to shout a warning, it happened so fast. Thank god her aim was shit. A sharp crack and the explosion of brick mere inches from Holtzmann’s left shoulder caused everyone to freeze. It wasn’t until Holtz let out a whoop and spun on the new hole in her wall—the baseball was only so many shreds of shrapnel—that the oxygen returned.

“I didn’t even throw it that hard,” Abby tried to explain in wide-eyed wonder, hands up like she’d been fingered in a crime. Granted, if the ball had hit Holtz, there might have actually been a crime scene.

“Told you, super strength,” Patty muttered, trying to return to the book she was researching. “Just don’t…throw anything at me, okay? Don’t want my death to be death by book-chuckin.”

“I don’t think it was that. Even with enhanced strength, throwing a baseball to the point of disintegration would require…” Erin’s brow scrunches in that special expression she wore when juggling heavy calculations. Her whiteboard marker squeaks sharply as she scribbled down velocity equations.

When the alarm sounds on Patty’s phone sometime later, all four look up like they’d emerged from a trance. Outside, the sun had sunk well below the building line, casting most of New York in shades of grays and blues broken up by neon signs, street lights, and building light.

“Damn, is it six already?”

“What…happens at six?” Erin asks blearily, rubbing her eyes with the heel of her palm. A familiar pressure was building in her temples—a telltale sign exhaustion wasn’t far off. Reluctant to lose her groove, Erin moves to the ecto table and picks up the coin. A trail of electric frost snakes up her arm. Energy settles in her veins again like a shot of caffeine, making her inhale potent relief, exhaustion vanishing. Palming the coin, Erin rolls it against the underside of her fingers and keeps it there, snug in the grooves of her palm.

From her reading nook, Patty gives the physicist a surprised look. “My date with Shelby? You helped me pick out my outfit two days ago.”

"Oh!” Erin brightens, remembering. “Right! Sorry. That is today.”

"Yep,” Patty affirms, pushing away from the table. “Which means this fabulous mama needs to head out so she can get ready.”

"Tell us how it goes!” Holtz calls from her workbench, soldering goggles down and a lit torch in hand.

"You all going to leave too, right?” the historian queries, gaze sliding from one woman to the next.

"Umm….yes?” Holtz offers unconvincingly.

“Just give us a few,” Abby reassures, scribbling hasty notes on the possibility of PKE transference to inanimate objects. “Have a few more things to test out…”  

"Hu-uh, we had a deal,” Patty crosses her arms, brow wrinkling in a deep frown. “One you were pretty adamant about, Abby. In fact, pretty sure it was your brainchild. We don’t do experiments unless we’re all together. That way there’s less of a chance _someone_ winds up burning down the firehouse or killing themselves in some nuclear explosion.”

Holtz doesn’t react despite feeling the weight of Patty’s pointed stare.

"Aww, come on,” Erin whines, motioning fervently at her whiteboard cramped with dizzying calculations. “There’s nothing we can blow up with the ecto-objects, and I’m already half-way through this set of figures. We can’t stop now!”

"Then I guess I’m canceling my date,” Patty sighs with dejected finality, turning to leave and pulling out her phone.

Abby’s the first to react, dropping her notes and skittering after her friend with a rattled off, “No, no, no, no, Patty, wait! Go on your date. We’ll leave. Pretty sure we should break for food, anyway. Don’t cancel anything!”

No one sees the sly smirk playing on the historian’s lips. When she turns to face her friends she’s carefully schooled her expression into one of cautious suspicion. “You all promise to be good while mom’s away? No experiments or crazy shit?”

“Scouts honor!” Holtz raises her still lit torch, opposite hand over her heart.

“We all know you got your fingers crossed, Holzy.”

“ _I_ promise,” Abby jumps in, waving down Holtz’s objection of innocence. “And Erin will back me up.”

Erin, for her part, didn’t look amused by being dragged into this but fires off a curt nod anyway. There was no winning when Abby made and enforced the rules.

“Well, all right then!” Patty beams. “You all grab some food while Holtzmann steals my Netflix password and pirates more shit.”

“FabPat43 is _way_ too easy.”

“Fine, how about I change it to Holtzmannstopstealingmyfuckingthings.”

The blonde makes a face. “Well, that was kind of pointless. Now I know it…”

“I’ll add in numbers,” Patty warns, but the engineer only grins at the challenge.

“I’ll get Abby to hack it again.”

“Holtzmann!” Abby rounding on the smaller woman.

Patty’s eyebrows shoot up in a scandalized expression. “It was you!”

From her place at the edge of her desk, Erin laughs, watching the exchange. She loved her family, dysfunctional and loud though they might be. “I learned early on in college passwords mean nothing when Abby’s on a mission to get into your accounts.”

“One time!” Abby deflects, raising a finger. “I hacked your profile one time, and you never let it go!”              

"You changed my profile image to me making out with that elf guy from Lord of the Rings!”

“It got the creepy stalker to leave you alone, didn’t it?”

"Legolas huh?” Holtz’s grin turns leering. “Guess you could say you have a thing for hot blondes, eh?”

"Oh my god, and on that note, I’m leaving,” Patty announces, making her way to the stairs. “You all can pretend to make out with your imaginary elves once I’m gone. This girl preferred Keebler anyway.”

"Guess this means we’re shutting down for the day,” Holtzmann pouts, unhappily tossing aside her tools after hearing the front door shut. Erin moves beside her and rubs her back, offering an apologetic smile when Abby speaks up.

"I mean,” she says, stretching out the middle of the word as she turns in slow rotation to face her friends, “we don’t necessarily _have_ to.”

Well, that wasn’t anticipated.

Holtzmann looks genuinely shocked when she spies the wiry smile twisting the corners of Abby’s lips which quickly grows into a full-blown grin. “Abigale Yates! Are _you_ , the unofficial official mother of our little band, suggesting we break a _promise_? And not just any promise. A _rule_?”

A giggle not unlike the ones that plagued Erin when she was up to something mischievous bubbles in the back of her throat. From her pocket, Abby withdraws her hand, index and middle fingers crossed.

“You minx!”

“I’ve got some theories I want to work out,” she says turning her blue eyes onto Erin. “You up for a race, Gilbert?”

Erin didn’t seem surprised by this mischievous streak at all. In fact, she reveled in the idea of being a little daring, bouncing off of Abby’s recklessness. “You think you can keep up with me?”

"Honey, I might be fat, but you and I both know when push comes to shove I can outpace you.”

"Now, now,” Holtzmann chides playfully, swinging an arm around Abby and Erin’s shoulders, squeezing with affectionate excitement. Oh, she loved spontaneity. Especially unforeseen spontaneity. “If we’re gonna be bad girls we’re gonna do this right. Talking bets here, ladies. Money in the pot, if Miss Tiny Bowties can pony up.”

"Don’t think I have the balls?” Erin challenges.

"Oh baby, I know you got those in surplus. You’re just usually more reserved.”

"Must be the ecto,” Erin grins, feeling more daring than she should have rightly been, but all she could think of was: _fuck it_. “The stakes?”

“Hundred bucks and you have to edit _and_ publish one of my theories to a scientific journal _in your own name._ ” Abby shows the stretch of her teeth in an impish smile when Erin narrows her eyes.

“Fine. Hundred bucks and you have to join me and Holtz for Thanksgiving at my parent’s this year.”

Abby looks surprised. “You say that like it’s a bad thing. I love your family.”

“You have to engage my father in political talk for no less than one hour,” Erin clarifies, to which Abby visibly winces.

"That’s cruel, Erin, even for you.”

"Then don’t lose.”

“Oh, we have the stakes,” Holtz beams, rubbing her hands together. “But do we have a wager?”

Erin and Abby are quick to shake on their bet, but Erin’s a step ahead and pulls Abby off kilter with a hard jerk, sprinting hard down the stairs with a shouted, “First around the neighborhood three times!” echoing behind her.

There were reports around the city—strange accounts mentioned in passing with shrugs and scratches to the head—that people had seen strange things around the Ghostbuster HQ and the blocks surrounding it. Some speculated it was a hoax: people didn’t run so fast they blurred. That only happened in movies. Then again, a year and a half prior, an interdimensional rift had birthed a Godzilla-like monster which rampaged through most of the lower East Side, and three years prior to that an army of ghosts had ransacked most of Time Square. So the skeptics were more or less ignored.

           

* * *

 

As September rolled into early October and the fall season wrapped New York in a multi-colored cloak, the ‘busters found themselves in a pleasantly active rhythm. Busts were far more common this time of year. It was speculated the veil became the thinnest the closer to Halloween and the traditional Samhain it got, but that was just the running theory. There was a renewed vigor in the firehouse. Exploration into the unknown tended to have that effect, as did the approach of the annual Ghostbuster haunted house. Not surprisingly, Holtzmann oversaw its construction in the alley…with proper supervision, of course.

 And between busts and builds, in any spare moment provided, the girls further researched their breakthrough with PKE, documenting key moments and spectacular failures. It was like pulling apart Russian nesting dolls. Just when they thought they’d broken through something else would set the bar higher. Like the day Erin shot her favorite ecto-coin through a window half way across the building when attempting to mentally move it across a table. They’d transplanted all testing of ecto-object to the panic room after that. Or when Abby pulled a Flash and ran up the side of a building, stranding herself on the fire escape until Patty could climb up and help her down. And so they tested, and tested, and retested some more, pushing the boundaries of their research and blurring the lines between work and play.

"We got one!” Kevin shouted happily one crisp fall afternoon over the sound of the alarm blaring through the station, covering his eyes as he did…because the siren was loud.

As par usual, Holtz was the first to the main floor, taking the fireman’s pole. Patty and Erin jogged down the stairs—Erin in a giggling lead—followed by an irritated looking Abby a few seconds later. Finger wiggling in her ear right ear, she winced at the blare of the siren coming from the box above. God, was it louder than usual today?

"I’m going to detach that fucking thing,” she grumbles, pulling on her jumpsuit and lacing her boots, none too happy about being pulled away from the article she’d been writing for most of the week.

"It is rather…loud,” Erin admits. “And kind of pointless.”

"Not pointless. The whole point of it being loud was to wake sleeping firemen,” Patty explains, switching out her large hoop earrings for studs. Two years ago she’d had her earlobe split when a ghost caught her earring. Never again.

“I know why it’s there,” Abby bites back. “But none of us are sleeping during the day, except for Holtz—”

“Hey!”

"So it is kind of pointless. And loud. And unnecessary. And _goddammit Kevin hit the button we’re all here!_ ”

"On it boss!” The alarm dies just as suddenly as it started, leaving a ringing echo in the silence afterward.

"Someone’s in a grumpy mood,” Holtzmann pouts, poking Abby in the shoulder. “What’s got you all sour in the puss?”

"Migraine. Low-pressure system rolling in,” the researcher mumbles, snagging the keys before the engineer could make a grab for them. “I’m driving.”

"You wanna sit this one out?” Holtz calls, tugging on her gloves.

"No.”

Holtz gives Erin and Patty a look that the two shrug back at her. They all knew better to buck Abby when her head was hurting her.

The drive to the bust was a long one. Traffic being what it was, it took the girls well over an hour to reach the Lower East Side where the call had been placed. In that time, Abby’s mood furthered deteriorated, her headache moving from a dull throb to something more pronounced and sharp. Erin offered to switch seats and drive—they were in enough gridlock it would be easy—but Abby refused, knuckling her way through the venture.

"Okay, so going off the message Kev got,” Patty announces after they pull up to a row of dilapidated brownstones and roll out, reading from her iPad, “apparently there’s been a wailing specter spotted on the premises. Looking into the history, this place used to be an area for tenement housing before they remodeled, so I think we all know what we’re looking for. Possible class two, non-intelligent, reoccurring entity.”

“Remodeled it for what? A haunted house?” Holtz snorts, sitting on the hood of Ecto-1. The four-story brownstones rise out of the concrete jungle already decaying, windows sightless and boards on the doors. It looked like there had been vagrant activity around judging by the amount of trash, some of it nefarious if the graffiti was anything to go by. Not a safe place for anyone to be at when the sun set.

"I guess the renovations stopped a while ago because of paranormal activity? No idea why they didn’t call us sooner, but there you go. That’s all I have.”

"So a crying ghost spooking people. Got it,” Erin affirms, crossing her arms over her chest. “Sounds like a pretty cut and dry bust. Let’s get to it.”

"Look at you, Miss Eager Beaver,” Holtz chuckles, leaning back on her hands and swinging her feet. “What’s got you so ready and rearing to go?”

It’s hard for the physicist not to grin alongside her partner. In fact, it had been difficult to clear the smile from her lips or the pep in her step that had been a constant companion for weeks. Erin left more alive than she had in years. More than just alive. Centered. Focused. _Happy._ And it wasn’t like she’d been unhappy before. Things just felt more controlled and clear and the confidence that bolstered in her made her bold.

"Feeling good today, that’s all.”

“Looking good, too,” Holtz winks, nudging her girlfriend as she slides down from her perch to open the back hatch of the hearse, leaving a feather-light kiss to the back of Erin’s ear. “But that’s a given.”

“Shut up,” Erin teases, feeling heat pool in her cheeks and ears. She heads to where Abby was already suiting up and frowns, noticing the pinched look on her best friend’s face. “Head still bothering you?”

"Yep,” the researcher replies, tone clipped.

“Abby, seriously, you can sit this one out. We can get a class two with just three people. It’s okay.”

"I’m fine.”

"You’re not,” the physicist argues, not about to let this go.

"Erin,” Abby warns, trying to keep her irritation in check. She scrunches her eyes against a sudden stab of pain behind her ocular nerve. “Drop it. We have a job to do.”

Jaw set, Erin risks further argument and plows ahead. “At least…use my coin? It’ll take the edge off until we get back to the lab.” She digs something from her pocket and holds it out. Holtzmann had created the tiny micro-canisters to help transfer smaller ecto-objects from bust sites, and Erin just happened to have one on hand.

“Oh come on. We talked about this,” Abby groans, motioning at the box. “We’re not ionizing during busts. It’s too unpredictable. _We_ ,” she gestures between them, “are too unpredictable.”

Erin waves off Abby’s worry like it was an annoying fly. “That’s beside the point. The adrenaline will at least numb your migraine until we get home. We’ve done it before.”

“Not on a bust!”

“Please?” Sliding back the canister’s lid, Erin holds up her ecto-coin, the blue turning translucent in the light. The skin-to-ecto contact leaves her pleasantly tingling, the customary burst of menthol blooming in the back of her throat as the PKE traveled its usual path. It wasn’t as powerful a hit as the ecto-axe or any of the larger objects back in the lab. Just enough to sharpen Erin’s senses and smooth out the excited wrinkles in her mind.

Abby eyes the coin like it could bite her. Yes, PKE might heighten senses and enhance abilities, but it also provided a boost of energy much like concentrated caffeine. Likely, the hit would keep her sane through the bust, but she still had her reservations…

“Please? It’s either that or deal with your migraine until we get home. Which is the better option?”

Abby hated it when she was out foxed.

“Oh my god, I have to be out of my mind.” Taking the ecto-object, Abby braces for the initial contact. There’s a moment of discomfort as her body acclimates to the PKE before the world sharpens and her migraine dulls. The effect has her exhaling in obvious relief. She could feel the pain squatting behind her eyes like a fiery toad but the boost was enough to muzzle it temporarily.

“Better?” Erin hedges, a hopeful smile on her lips. She bounces a little, burning off excess energy that always left her feeling jittery and giggly.

“Something like that.” Much as Abby didn’t want to admit it, she felt good and rolls her neck and shoulders, feeling the muscles loosen. Erin brightens at seeing her best friend relax a little, pleased she could be of some help.

"I don't think I'm ever going to get used to watching your eyes turn blue," Erin bumps Abby's shoulder with her own, catching her best friend's now ice blue gaze after she removed her glasses and stows them in Ecto-1. "It's a pretty awesome side-effect."

"Being able to see without glasses is a pretty awesome side-effect, if I'm being honest. I'd keep using this stuff just for that."

"Lasik by ectoplasm," Holtz strokes her chin. "There's a new business venture."

"No," comes the collective reply.

“Dude, I don’t like this. This could backfire so spectacularly,” Patty comments as they finish suiting up, giving the two a look.

“Or, on the bright side, it could go wonderfully right. Come on,” Erin wheedles, grinning as she did. “At some point, we have to take the risk, and what better time than now? It’s an easy bust. We all know the drill.”

“Pretty sure this new reckless Erin is going to get us all killed.”

“You think I’m reckless?” she challenges, tilting her head.

“I don’t think you’re thinking like yourself,” Patty frowns, hands on her hips. “So yeah, maybe a bit reckless, for you.”

A hint of something mischievous passes over Erin’s face, making her bright blue eyes glint. “I think we need to rethink our definition of reckless. Reckless is Holtz welding next to a propane tank—“

“Only did it one time!” the engineer says defensively around a mouthful of goldfish crackers she’d stuffed into one pocket of her jumpsuit.

“Reckless is eating gas station sushi.”

“Why do I feel personally attacked by this?” Holtz frowns, still chewing.

“And reckless would be doing…something like this.”

Taking off at a hard sprint like death itself was on her heels, Erin climbs the front stoop and kicks open the door with the heel of her boot—earning her a shouted, “Jesus, Erin, what the hell?” from Abby and Patty and a sputtering laugh from Holtzmann. Hands braced on the frame, she sweeps her eyes around the brownstone—grinning like a fool—taking in the disheveled main level at a glance before turning to her friends.

“Reckless is running into a building without backup, but I wouldn’t know reckless would I? Also, all clear!” she waves them forward before darting inside with a giggle in her wake.

“Oh my god, she’s going to kill herself!” Patty hastily throws on her gear and takes chase. Abby follows close behind with Holtz bringing up the rear after locking Ecto-1.

“Erin!” Abby calls into the empty building, turning in a tight circle. Somewhere above, the floorboards creak, sending dust drifting down like gray snowflakes. This wasn’t how busts were meant to go. Damn it, this wasn’t how the Ghostbusters operated.

“Four floors and multiple buildings. Walkies on channel 2. We’ll meet back here in thirty minutes,” Abby fumbles with her walkie, tuning it to the proper channel and drawing her proton gun. “And if you find Erin first along the way make sure to smack her for me and drag her ass back here too.”

“We talking a hard smack or something more playful, because I for one would hate—“

“Holtzmann, I swear to god, get moving or I’m going to deck you myself,’ Abby snaps, taking the stairs two at a time in the direction she believed Erin had gone.

“Think we should follow?” Holtz nudges Patty with her elbow—more than a little amused by the events taking place—the two watching Abby’s retreating form from the base of the stairs.

“Ain’t my place to get between those two. Let them work it out. I just want to get gone ASAP. This place gives me the creeps.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the slow updates. Things have been crazy and are only going to get worse. I've started my second load of classes, so further updates might be slower and a little smaller than normal. 
> 
> Reviews help me write faster and let me know you're enjoying the read so far. Please and thank you!


	8. Blood and Banshees

Erin moves slowly down the hallway, one creaking footfall at a time. She checks each room individually, keeping her ears out for anything abnormal. This wasn’t her fist wailing ghost hunt. She knew what to look for, but the air felt different here. Spiritual entities tended to leave electrical residue in the atmosphere. People felt these in cold spots or pockets of static electricity. In these brownstones, the energy was stagnant…almost dead.

Lacking proper walls separating the homes, each building bled into the next, making Erin’s hunt properly labyrinthine. She’d heard her colleagues call after her some time ago but hadn’t slowed or turned back. Didn’t want to. Figured if they were going to call her reckless she’d show them what actual recklessness looked like. Then again, she, out of everyone in the group, Holtz included, was the apt to be reckless on the fly. Her track record pretty much spoke for itself.

A smug smile ghosts across her face, and she suppresses a giggle. It was fun turning the tables for once.

Finding a staircase tucked away behind what looked like the beginnings of a kitchen, Erin climbs to the next level, picking her way over discarded Styrofoam takeout boxes and paper cups. The presence of human vagrancy was everywhere, which begged the question: why had everyone left so suddenly? Renovations appeared to have stopped a while ago, and while wailing spirits were spooky, it looked like the people squatting here had packed up shop and hauled ass out in a hurry.

Gripping her gun, Erin swings around the corner like she’s playing hide-and-seek, waiting for something to pop out at her. Nothing moves save for the rustle of plastic in the breeze shifting through the glassless windows. Making a face, she continues searching, steps light, heightened senses at full max. In her shirt, caught between the fabric of her sports bra and the smooth, pale skin of her breast, her ecto-coin glows just a bit brighter.

* * *

            

Abby was pissed. Like throwing things in a rage pissed, or maybe punch a hole in the wall pissed. Her migraine was a thing of the past as she stomps into the upper floors, searching for her best friend. Hell, she was pissed enough the researcher was considering downgrading Erin in friend status. Not really, though. She’d never do that, but the idea certainly crossed her mind more than once.

Angry though she might have been, the longer Abby searches and the deeper into the brownstones she goes the more it becomes apparent this particular bust was something different. She can tell by the feel of the atmosphere. Something wasn’t right, but she can’t put her finger on that it was. It hovers just out of reach like a forgotten word, teasing her until something snaps together in her mind, and she stops walking altogether.

It was quiet. And not just the quiet of inactivity or desertion. New York was a noisy city. It beat with a pulse all its own, a heartbeat made up of competing sounds. Insulation usually took care of most of the city’s ambient noise, but this brownstone had nothing in the ways of sound barriers—not with only naked wood and plaster—so Abby should have heard something. She didn’t. Not a peep. Not a siren. Not a distant squawk of a car horn. Nothing.   

It was eerie, this kind of silence. It was like the breath before a fall. Abby feels the static of unease dance across the back of her neck and _knows_  something's off. Class II entities didn’t suck the energy and sound from the atmosphere. That was another level entirely, and with this suspicion in mind, Abby pauses in the room she’d just cleared—her hunt for Erin suspended—and reaches for her walkie-talkie.

The ghost-be-gone device on her hip suddenly shrieks a mechanical warning a split second too late. Blue energy flares around Abby like a protective bubble—much like it had back in the warehouse with Patty—preventing the charging entity from jumping into her body, but the momentum of the specter is enough to drive her off her feet. The shock of the blow has Abby’s mind reeling while her body runs on autopilot. She stands and spins, gun raised, finger on the trigger.

Through the wall of opaque plastic cordoning off the room, Abby watches a flickering humanoid outline move with slow determination towards the doorway she’d been pushed through. The silhouette alone was creepy as hell. Fear grows like a potent weed when the specter pulls itself into the doorframe, giving Abby a solid look at the creature she was facing.

“Oh, you’re a pretty son-of-a-bitch, aren’t you?” she licks her lips, readjusting her grip on her gun. “No chance I can persuade you to just head on out of here and call it a night?”

The entity didn’t seem keen on that idea at all, bristling with malcontent that turned its ghastly features even more frightening.

“Yeah, didn’t think so.”

Abby was good at her job. She’d been doing it consistently for fives year, so tackling a lower level entity alone wasn’t difficult or unheard of. Point. Shoot. Trap. Contain. Go home. Five simple steps and she’d gotten the first two down. Her proton stream wraps around the ghost’s torso, locking onto its PKE signature…only it doesn’t react. Doesn’t even blink. And when Abby attempts to pull it towards her it doesn’t budge in the least. Instead, it decided to show the human exactly what she was messing with because a Class II it was not. Not even remotely close.

The shriek that rips from the ghost’s throat hits Abby like an LRAD system. Deafening didn’t describe the volume. Shattering was a closer depiction. The sound assaulted her on a molecular level. Jumped into her brain and began short circuiting basic signals. The world grays at the edges. Her eyes roll. Knees turning to jelly, Abby sinks to the floor, barely able to cover her ears. Barely able to move. Something wet leaks from them, coating her palms. She can’t see. Can’t think. Can’t defend herself when the ghost suddenly slams into her with the force of a speeding truck.

Breath knocked from her lungs, Abby struggles to stand only to hit the ground again when an icy hands curls in her hair, nails scraping her scalp, and yanks her onto her back with a hard twist. The familiar taste of metallic menthol blooms in her throat, and the world grows a fraction sharper before being ripped away in a blur as she’s bodily dragged across the floor.

Hands scramble for her proton gun. Her fingers find the trigger and press. No aiming. No plan. Just a hopeful wish the stream would hit the ghost and drive it off long enough she could get her wits about her.

It works, partially. Startled by the sudden power of condensed protons, the ghost drops Abby and shrinks away, but it knew its game. Knew how humans operated. Waited for her to get her feet under her again before issuing another scream that shatters against the woman like a wave comprised of glass shards.   

She’s on the floor again, on her knees, bent in half. Helpless. Immobile. Screaming against the agony clawing at her from the inside out. Something warm trickles down her face, staining her upper lip. Tastes like iron. More warmth trickles from her ears. Then she’s being grabbed and throw again, only this time the trajectory is up rather than across the room. Thank god her pack and the entity take the brunt of the impact of being dragged bodily through the ceiling above.

Weightlessness discombobulates Abby’s overloaded senses right before gravity reinstates itself. Her fall back to earth ends in a sick crunch when the researcher meets the unfinished wood floor of the fifth story attic.   

 _Walkie,_ she blurrily thinks, coughing speckles of red across the floor. _Walkie for…help._

The opportunity comes and goes. Grabbed by the back of her collar, Abby is bodily lifted and dragged across the floor. She tries to hold onto something, anything to anchor herself to. Tries to twist away. Can’t. And then she’s at the top of a flight of stairs and all too suddenly she knows what’s about to happening and braces for it.       

* * *

 

Erin was still on the second floor when she heard it. Pretty sure the whole block had heard that scream, and it turns the blood in her veins to ice. She’s running before the echo has a chance to fade, hoping her current path got her there in time. In the Ghostbuster’s five years of busting they’d only ever come up against a banshee twice. Neither incident had ended well. Patty had been hospitalized for two days, and Holtz had broken her arm and wrist in four places.

No, if this was a banshee the situation had just gone from routine to life and death.

"You guys heard that right?” Patty’s voice crackles over the walkie on Erin’s shoulder. “Erin, please tell me you’re not still playing hide-and-seek with us, shit just got serious.”

“I heard it above me. Checking it out now,” Erin says into the speaker.

"Do! Not!” Patty snaps. “Wait for us to get there!”

“Can’t. It only screams when it attacks. Is Holtz with you?”

"Right beside Pattycakes,” the engineer affirms, her usual playfulness greatly subdued. No one wanted to face a banshee.

Erin feels her heart sink into her stomach. “Is Abby with you?”

"She went off looking for you, baby.”

And suddenly Erin’s running full tilt through the brownstones, walkie conversation forgotten. Banshees only screamed when they attacked. Abby wasn’t with the rest of them. She was alone. Oh god.

"Abby!” Erin shouts, heedless of the danger her screaming put her in. The entity could redirect its attack onto her if it felt its territory was being threatened. Gun drawn, she’s prepared to do battle if necessary. Hell, if it had hurt Abby, Erin was going to deionize the motherfucker herself. “Abby, answer me!”

Nothing. Silence. Until another scream from the floor above has Erin jumping. The wood and plaster between her and the entity did little to dampen the sound of the shriek or the splinter of wood directly following.

Shaking the ringing from her ears, Erin climbs to the third floor, sighting down the barrel of her gun, heart a battery ram in her chest. She extends her senses, allowing the PKE raging in her blood to sharpen and enhance the world around her. Moving fast and low, she checks each room until coming upon a hole in the ceiling that looked sickeningly fresh. It leads from one floor to the next, stopping somewhere at the fifth story attic.

"Abby!” she called into the hole, eyes searching for any type of movement. No answer. Fuck… _fuck_.  

_Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump._

Four concussions in overlapping succession. It could have been someone coming down the stairs. Sounded like it. Then again, it sounded like a body being dragged. Erin’s hands are shaking, sweat making her jumpsuit stick to her back. Her climb to the fourth floor is a blur. All she can picture are the worst scenarios coming true. The banshee hadn’t screamed again, and that left three possibilities. Abby had either deionized it. Captured it. Or it had killed Abby.

Frantic terror grips Erin. All she can see are the hallways in front of her. She screamed for her friend again, twisting in a tight circle, looking, searching, hoping…

A streak of blue and green shoots by the door at the end of a long hall. Dragged behind it is Abby. The researcher manages to snag the door frame and hold on for dear life, not realizing Erin was feet from her until she looks up at the shout of her name.

“Hold on!” Erin slides into dive onto her stomach, but Abby’s grip fails a second too late. Erin catches the terrified look in the woman’s eyes, the plea for help, the blood on her face and hands, before she’s ripped away.

Scrambling back to her feet, Erin prepares to run after her when a blur of gray and red streaks past the door, startling her. Abby reconnects with the floor a dozen or so yards from Erin with a grizzly crunch, rolling to a stop until her momentum dies.

A piercing scream has Erin spinning and instinctively ducking away from the charging specter before she can make a break for the prone woman. It passes overhead before circling back round to face Erin, practically vibrating with rage. The air hums with the static of its malevolence.

He was a ghastly creature pulled from the depths of nightmares. Empty pits of inky black glare at Erin from across the room, mirroring the cavernous hole of a mouth set in a permanent, visceral scream. His sallow skin almost looks green against the ecto-blue glow of his ghostly form, pitted with pockmarked scarring similar to burn scars marring his face. Judging by the tongues of fire licking across his body, Erin knew exactly how this tortured soul turned torturer had died.

Erin slaps at her walkie, struggling to find the call button. She needed help. Now. “Guys, I got a visual—“

The scream that rips from the entity’s throat was like being hit with the shockwave of a firework explosion. Erin actually tucks into herself as she weathers the screech, teeth gritted hard enough her jaw cramps. Squinting against the sound like she was attempting to peer through a wind storm, she sees the ghost charging her again and fires off a clumsy shot from her shotgun. It misses but startles the entity enough it veers off course, disappearing into a wall.

“Oh my god,” Erin sucks in, righting herself and moving in a rush towards her downed friend when her boot catches on something, making her trip. The weight of the canister and the ring the impact of her boot creates draws Erin’s attention, as does a strange odor. She feels the blood leave her face, cruel understanding starting to sink in.

Oh no…

Propane tanks. Dozens of them littered the upper floor, probably left behind by the previous occupants—at least that was the hope. But it didn’t change the fact the Ghostbusters were standing on what could be a proverbial bomb, and Erin had fired off a shot of superheated protons.  

“Erin!” Patty’s voice crackles through the walkie attached to her left shoulder. “Baby, where are you?”

“Get out of the building!” Erin shouts.

“What?!”

“It’s a trap! He’s going to blow the building!” It made sense. Vengeful spirit. Renovations. He wanted things to go back to how they were.

“Where are you?” Holtz’s voice warbles through the crackling reception, tight with a panic Erin felt like a fist around her heart.

“Fourth floor. Don’t know which building. Abby’s hurt,” the physicist bites out. “Get out. We’re right behind—“

“E-Erin…” Across the room, Abby struggles almost drunkenly to her feet. Blood drains from her nose and smaller cuts, painting her lips, chin, and most of her coveralls in rust-colored stains. Trembling hands grip the banister, shaking as badly as her knees. She locks eyes with her best friend, tongue slow to form the words she needs, but they never make it out of her mouth.

A hand materializes from inside the wall and grabs her by the front of her jumpsuit, jerking her hard into the plaster. Once. Twice. Three times. The world grays. Turns red as blood spatters into her eyes. Someone screams. Sounds like Erin, but it was too far off to focus on. Emerging from within the wall, the entity floats towards the ceiling, taking a barely conscious Abby with it.

Sighting down her gun, Erin can’t risk a shot without hitting her best friend and possibly igniting the gas building in the room. If she could just reposition…“Hang on, Abby!”

"R-run…” the researcher manages to choke out, struggling weakly against the vice-like grip on her coveralls. It’s no use. Whatever strength she had was gone. The specter sniggers gleefully at the struggling woman, knowing full well the fight was over. “Die…sc-screaming,” Abby spits, bearing bloody teeth and going for her proton grenades.

 _"Abby, don’t!_ ”

The ghost beats her to the punch.

Mouth unhinging further, it unleashes another shattering scream powerful enough to vibrate the floor. This close, Abby doesn’t stand a chance. Ionized and overloaded, her body shuts down. Going limp as an emptied sack, she sails through the air when tossed aside, landing hard on her back and teetering on the edge of the stairs until gravity makes the decision for her and drags her down.  

 _"You fucking son-of-a-bitch!_ ” Erin roars, seeing red, shouldering her proton shotgun and recklessly firing off a shot, propane canisters be damned. She aimed high and winds up blowing out part of the ceiling when the entity dodges with nimble speed and redirects towards her. Either it didn’t care about the shotgun or knew it could survive the blast because it kept low and moved fast, attempting to ram into Erin and possibly drag her out a window. Two shots rip in quick succession from the shotgun, one buzzing the entity’s right shoulder—charring a hole in a nearby wall—and the other hitting it in the chest. It doesn’t slow, forcing Erin to hit the floor. The banshee sails over head with a wail like a herd of screaming cats, claws just barely nicking the heat-sync on her pack.

What possessed her to dig out her ecto-coin she didn’t know. Desperation, probably. Whatever the reason, Erin grips the glowing ecto-object tight, a plan hastily forming. Weapons were useless here and there was no foreseeable exit, leaving only one viable option. Abby turned a baseball into a homemade missile a few weeks ago while ionized. Maybe she could replicate something similar. Erin waits until the banshee turns to face her again.

"Do what my friend suggested and die screaming!”

The coin sails from Erin’s hand, arching impressively in its trajectory. It was a strong throw. Overhanded, like a proper baseball pitch. Only the coin veers left. Way left. So far left it completely misses the banshee entirely.

Both human and specter stop and stare. They had to. It was such a spectacularly awful throw Erin smacks her own forehead.

"Are you _fucking_ kidding me?” she groans, slowly back away, preparing to reevaluate her plan.

A slow, sinister turn back to center, black pits for eyes seeking and finding Erin. Leaning down, it rips the safety valve off a nearby propane tank, the gas inside hissing softly as it vacated into the ambient air. When Erin smells smoke she knows the countdown has begun in earnest.

Somewhere between the understand she’d fucked up royally and the panic turning her mind to reactive static, Erin unintentionally focuses on her coin. Two things happen simultaneously. One: the ecto-coin laying across the room zooms back to its master like the physicist was a rare earth magnet, shooting through the banshee in the process. Two: the ghost explodes in a shower of icy ectoplasm that hits Erin dead-center. Head to toe. One solid wave of green and blue goo baptizing her like she’d been standing on the bridge of a log flume ride.

It happens so fast it’s impossible to comprehend all at once, leaving Erin a frozen, gooey mess barely able to catch her breath under the frigid coating of ectoplasm. Right hand closed tightly around her coin, she uses the left to clear away the goop covering her eyes.

"Holy… _fuck_ ,” she eventually breathes, opening her palm and staring down at the ecto-object that had saved her life, mind reeling. Patty’s shout from the bottom of the stairs brings Erin out of her stupor, jerking her into swift action.

“Oh my god, I’m calling an ambulance. Holtzy, go find Erin.”

The act of seeking the physicist wasn’t necessary. Not a second later, Erin rips around the corner and appears at the top of the stairs, half stumbling, half sliding due to the ectoplasm coating the soles of her boots. She and Holtz almost collide, the latter of the two brandishing her twin proton pistols, the whites of her eyes just a bit too prominent.

"Get out! Go go go!” Erin shrieks, grabbing Holtz by the arm on her way down. “The rooms filling with gas! _GO_!”

“Shit!” Patty moves fast, adrenaline granting her the ability to physically lift Abby into a fireman’s carry from where she’d landed at the bottom of the stairs in a bloody heap.

They make it to the second floor before the first tank caught fire and the building rocks with the explosion. Without the ability to tell how many more tanks were compromised by the banshee, the girls keep running and are nearly thrown to the floor when a series of larger eruptions bring the fourth floor into the third. The concussion rips the world into pieces, sucking the sound from the building before replacing it with the roar of flames and the shrill shrieking of burning containers.

Smoke fills the brownstone, preceding the snaking tongues of fire like a pyroclastic flow making its way down walls, engulfing plaster and melting plastic. Within a minute, the entire complex has gone up in flames. Fiery debris rains from the ceiling, but no one stops. No one slows in the least even when visibility drops to barely a foot in front of them and the heat rises to a scorching degree. It’s only through a sheer miracle that Holtz spies the open front door by following the trail of drifting smoke.

Stumbling from the building and collapse on the sidewalk a safe distance away, the three woman fight to clear their lungs of acrid smoke and fumes, sucking in as much fresh air as possible. Patty carefully lowers Abby to the ground and is almost shoved aside by Erin scrambling to reach her unconscious best friend.

Abby lies in a dangerously still heap on her side. Her glasses were gone, lost somewhere in the now burning brownstone. Sweaty strands of hair with hints of white at the root stick to the blood coagulating on her cheeks and neck, obscuring her face until Erin gently moves them aside in her hunt for a pulse. Finding the artery in her neck, Erin feels tears of relief prick her eyes. Her nod of affirmation at Patty makes the taller woman almost wilt, a muttered pray of thanks passing across her lips. Rising, the historian digs out her cell phone and moves away to call 911.

“Erin?” Holtz coughs in a rough voice, gently putting a hand on her girlfriend’s shoulder. She crouches next to her as the brunette gently strokes Abby’s face, heedless of the goo her touch left behind. There was blood coming from Abby’s ears…that was never a good sign. “Baby, what happened?”

“It wasn’t a Class II,” she hiccups, still in shock. “It got Abby. Set a trap.”

“Is the ghost still in the building?” Holtz does her best to clear ectoplasm and soot from Erin’s face, blue eyes searching the physicist for something she couldn’t put into words.

“S-slimed it,” Erin manages to push out, fighting back shivers. Ectoplasm was cold. Damn cold. Almost numbingly so, and it was _everywhere_. Soaking into her coveralls and sliding into the hidden cracks of her body, mixing with the smell of burning wood and plastic.

"With what?”

"Shotgun,” she lies without thinking, the hand holding the ecto-coin already dropping out of sight. This wasn’t the time, even for a revelation like the one she'd witnessed. “Four rounds. Last one and it just…popped.”

"Paramedics and fire department are on the way.” Patty reappears, sinking back to her knees beside Abby. She takes over for Erin, leaning over her fallen friend and gently calling to her, urging her to wake up. She doesn’t. Thinking ahead, Holtzmann pulls a knife from her boot and begins cutting off Abby’s demolished pack, careful not to move her for fear of exacerbating any unforeseen injuries.

When help arrives it’s with four firetrucks in tow, three ambulances, and roughly half a dozen police cars. Suddenly the street outside is alive with a flurry of lights, sirens, and activity, a few curious onlookers brought out of their homes to watch the building burn. Firefighters rush to secure the blaze while men in blue suits running alongside a stretcher load Abby and whisking her away.

Being the most lucid out of the three, Patty gives their statement to the police, but there’s nothing much that could be said. It was a bust gone wrong. They’d discovered propane tanks on the fourth floor set up as some type of booby-trap. Erin sprung it chasing after the entity they’d been hired to contain. The officer documents the incident and thanked them for their service before explaining they would be in touch. The condolences ring hollow—they always did when one of them got hurt on a bust—but none of the ‘busters have time to wallow.

“Don’t fucking touch me!”

Spinning in surprise at the sound of Abby’s voice, the three sprint back to the ambulance just in time to witness the researcher inexplicably stagger out of it, ripping IV leads from her arms with vicious determination. A harried paramedic follows, clearly not prepared for her reaction or sudden consciousness.

"Abby!” Patty jogs up, waving the blue-clad man attempting to subdue her away. Last thing they needed was Abby swinging at someone. Judging by the wild look in her eyes that wasn’t a far-off concern. “Baby, what are you doing? You need to go to the hospital.”

"No. I don’t. I just…” the researcher begins, clearly agitated beyond the point of forming intelligent words. She looks over at the smoldering remains of the brownstone—mouth opening and closing in shock—before stalking away in the opposite direction, making staying gestures with her hands. “Fuck this shit. I’m going home.”

"Abby!” Erin takes chase, finding herself at a loss for words. Catching up, she grabs her best friend by the arms and pulls her to a stop. “Hey, no, you need to see a doctor. You shouldn’t even be up and walking after what happened.”

Abby wrenches her arm away—wincing slightly in the process of moving her rotator cuff—and puts distance between herself and Erin. “Jesus, I didn’t know! Wow, thank you for pointing out the obvious. As if the fucking pain I’m in wasn’t evidence enough!”

“Listen to me. You need to—“

"No, you listen!” Abby shouts, going nose-to-nose with the physicist who notices her best friend’s eyes are bright blue instead of their normal de-ionized green. The PKE was still in her system. “Thanks to you, I can’t go to a fucking hospital, so I’m going home! I’m taking an aspirin. I’m chasing it with Jack, and I’m going to bed so I can forget about the fact I was fucked up by a shrieking ghost that apparently blew the hell out of the building he was haunting! The last thing I want is to be taken to some godforsaken hospital and hooked up to machines for hours with needles in my arm!”

Erin’s eyebrows snap together fast enough there should have been a clap of thunder. “What do you mean thanks to me?”

Abby’s smart enough to lower her voice even if it doesn’t diminish her angry growl. “You gave me the damn ecto-coin. I can’t fucking go to a hospital ionized. I shouldn’t even be walking, but here I am, so thank you for that.”

"Ionization notwithstanding, you could have a concussion,” Erin argues, trying to appear unimpressed with Abby’s show of aggression and anger. “Or something broken. Abby, please! Just let them check you out.”

“I’m not being turned into someone’s goddamn science experiment. The answer is no.”

Erin doesn’t budge, crossing her arm instead and planting her feet. “That’s not a good argument and you know it.”

"That’s the only explanation you deserve after the stunt you pulled, and it’s the only one you’re getting, so get used to it.”

"Getting angry with me isn’t going to solve anything,” Erin frowns, feeling her hackles raise. “This isn’t my fault. None of this is any of our fault.”

"It absolutely is your fault!” Abby explodes, going so far as to shove Erin back a step, shocking everyone. In the five years they’d been together as a team there had been only a handful of truly epic fights between the old friends. “ _You_ gave me that fucking ecto-coin, and _you_ ran into the building alone because you seem to have something to prove! You should have waited for us, but you split us up and made me chase after you. This all comes back to you, Erin. You were reckless. You broke up the team. You didn’t think about anyone but yourself, but of course it wasn’t you who got fucked up. _No_. It never is! It’s the rest of us. We’re always the collateral damage when you decide to take the reins. I thought you learned with the Ether Whale incident that your decisions have repercussions on the whole team and not just you.”        

Erin visibly recoils from the rebuke and Abby’s flash of rage like she’d been slapped, hurt settling into her expression. It was a low blow bringing up that particular incident. That had been the day the ‘busters nearly lost Holtzmann while battling an interdimensional beast and Erin shortly after due to exposure. Despite a year and a half separating the incident from the present, Erin still woke from choking nightmares about that day, something Abby was aware of.

Ignoring the sting of old wounds her words awoke, Abby stalks forward and is met with little resistance from Erin or Patty, but Holtz had yet to move. The smaller woman hated fighting between friends. Hell, even loud arguments made her bones itch, but she knew Erin was right. Abby needed a doctor. Abby needed help, but as pissed off as she was, not even god himself could persuade her into listening to reason.

“Get out of my way, Holtz, or I’ll move you out of my way.”

Judging by the dangerous coil of Abby’s body, her threat wasn’t something to be taken lightly. Holtz holds her friend’s icy stare a moment more before moving aside to allow her to pass. Only once Abby’s back is to her does she deflate like a mylar balloon leaking helium.

"You two head back to Ecto-1 and go home. Lord knows you need to scrub that ectoplasm off before it dries and starts itching,” Patty says quietly with a sympathetic smile, a hand on either woman’s shoulder. “Let me get Abby home. She just needs to vent, that’s all. We’ll be right behind you, and you can bet your sweet ass I’ll keep an eye on her.”

Erin and Holtz both nod dejectedly and head for the car. Patty waits for them to roll off before jogging after Abby, falling into silent step beside her.

"I don’t need you here,” the researcher growls, attempting to clear the blood from her face with the back of her hand but succeeding only in smearing it further.

"I know,” Patty shrugs, hands in her pockets. It was a cool night. Not uncomfortably cold but brisk enough to suggest the coming winter might be a bitter one.

"Then why are you here?”

"Can’t a girl share the same sidewalk? Or is your temper too big?”

"Fuck you, Patty.”

The historian sucks her teeth, unimpressed. “I know that’s your temper talking and not actually you, so I’m gonna let that slide.”

With the shorter of the two ducking into glowering silence, they walk a few blocks mostly unnoticed and unmolested by passersby—despite a few of them giving Abby a concerned look on account of the blood—before the stretch of the researcher’s injuries begin to get the best of her. That or the PKE was finally leaving her system. Hard to tell, but Patty’s keen eye never lifts from her friend.

Abby slows three blocks from the bust site and begins heavily limping half a block later. Patty doesn’t offer any aid. Knows better. Pride was an easy thing to bruise, and Abby’s was already in short supply and sporting black and blue welts from her encounter with the banshee. Something everyone on the team had learned in their years together: Abby wasn’t one to ask for help often, if ever.

"I don’t need you to babysit me,” Abby growls from where she’d stopped to lean against the mouth of an alley, face ashen with the pain she was wrestling.

"What gave you the impression I’m doing anything other than walking home too?”

"I know what you’re doing! Just…leave me alone.”

Patty shakes her head, crossing her arms. “Ain’t gonna happen, baby, and I’m gonna tell you why. Here’s the thing. I like you. A lot. I’d like to think we’re friends on account we’ve been busting for five years, and friends don’t abandon friends even when they’re being stubborn jackasses and refusing proper medical care. They follow their stupid asses and make sure nothing else happens to them because, wouldn’t you know, they _care_ about each other. That make sense to you?”         

It does, and Abby’s touched by the sentiment, but right now she needed space to think and process. Compartmentalize. Focus. There was too much chatter going on inside her head. A bit too much noise for her liking. It put her teeth on edge. Made her feel like she was stretching too thin.

So it was hard to tell if the siren itself was just at that right octave or something else was happening, but when the ambulance shoots by Abby drops like a led weight, hands over her ears. Grinding her teeth, she weathers the pain ripping through her skull until it becomes too much and overpowers her senses. Then she’s screaming into her knees, tucked into a ball so tight it was a miracle she didn’t implode.

Patty immediately drops down and puts her own hands over Abby’s, the size difference still a little shocking, holding tight until the episode passes. When it does and the researcher looks up, her blue eyes are fading back to green but shimmer with heavy tears that morph into a sob a second later.

“It hu-hurts, Patty.”

“I know, baby. I know.” Sliding next to her on the sidewalk, the historian pulls Abby into her, hands still over her ears to muffle the noise.

"I can’t…can’t block out the sound. It’s everywhere! It—I here in my head. It won’t stop!” She was starting to hyperventilate, coughing on the wetness building in the back of her throat. Her fingers turn to claws against her scalp. “It won’t stop!”

"You’re panicking, baby, and that’s okay. I’m right here. Patty’s not going anywhere, just breathe.”

"Why is this happening?” Abby grits out, turning her face into Patty’s chest. Her whole body was shaking, jarring her injuries and making her nauseous at the same time. She wanted to vomit just to void her intestines of the writhing snakes nesting there.

"Best guess? It’s the PKE working out of your system."

"Never again."

"Agreed, which is why we need to go home. You ready for that?”

Abby tries to respond further but can’t. Can’t even manage to shake her head in confirmation because the noise was building to a cacophony in her mind, drowning the world out while it drowned her in the process.

Patty realizes something wrong when Abby’s intake of air starts coming in choking fits and starts. Pushing her back, she watches a fresh bead of blood slide from Abby’s nose, quickly followed by a second from the opposite nostril. But it’s when the capillaries in the researcher's eyes begin to burst, staining the white crimson, that Patty panics.

"Okay, nope, we’re getting you home. Now.”

Hailing a cab by almost jumping out in front of it, Patty half-carries half-drags her incoherent friend into the car and promises the driver if he can get them to the fire station in under ten minutes it would be a hundred bucks solid. Needless to say, he does it in eight.

“Mah man, if you help me get her inside it’ll be an extra twenty.”

The cabbie obliges with a shrug, and the two carry Abby to the front door which Patty all but kicks in once she unlocks it. Digging out the man’s fare, she thanks him and takes Abby inside where an anxious Holtz and ectoplasm-free-Erin wait in nervous silence on the downstairs couch—the physicist unconsciously juggling her ecto-coin across her knuckles. Patty didn’t remember Erin being able to do that.

Jumping at Patty’s brusque entrance and seeing Abby hanging limp from her arms, the two scramble forward to help, not even asking what happened. They knew. Or at least thought they knew. Erin had an inkling of what was happening, but she couldn’t voice it, wouldn’t right now, needed to focus on helping her best friend.

Without having to say it, the three ‘busters settle in and begin what was sure to be a long and arduous night stabilizing their friend, none of them talking much or making eye contact for various reason, unaware of the cracks starting to form in their otherwise cohesive and solid friendship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so we begin our descent, the sun finally setting. I told you all this was going to get dark. We're gonna finally get into the really gritty stuff from here on out, which I'm massively excited about.
> 
> Reviews help me write faster and let me know how I'm doing. Please and thank you! Also, come bother me on my tumblr http://not-so-secret-nerd.tumblr.com/


	9. Stage 2

The days following the banshee bust were touch and go. Within the walls of the firehouse, an unspoken tension lingered, the thread of avoidance pulled taught between the four.

Erin spent the majority of her time with Holtzmann, the two hold up in her lab going over equations and ecto-based theories. And while this was the norm for the two on any other given day, trips made to the ground level were done with haste like a child dodging an inevitable scolding.

Neither Abby nor Erin had exactly broached the topic of reconciliation since their argument next to the burning brownstones. Wounds were still being licked and prides mended, so they gave each other space in hopes time would work like a salve. It didn’t. Instead, it left a growing irritation within the natural hum of life like a rock in a shoe.      

Out of the four, Erin felt this strain the most next to Holtzmann. Having to walk on eggshells, having to police her every move for fear of creating an incident put the physicist on edge to the point she could hardly concentrate on her work unless distracted by her girlfriend. And my, what a distraction she could be. In the past, when just the stress of existing pulled at her, Erin sought and found solace in strange places, but she never expected to find peace in the blue glow of an ecto-coin, or in the mischief it sent buzzing through her blood.

Maybe it was helped along by Holtz’s magnetic influence, the two pinging off one another like bumping atoms. Maybe this was a side of Erin she’d kept locked away for years, determined to be the demure professional when all she wanted was to throw caution to the wind and chase the raindrops. Whatever the reason, while the two experimented, she saw another side of herself emerge, and while it was a welcome distraction, having Holtzmann as a mentor in mischief was a terrible, awful idea.

That was what ultimately lead to Patty Tolan having her proton gun drawn as she crept through the hallway leading to the garage. She’d been working a late shift when she’d heard rattling coming from the laundry room. As far as she knew, she and Abby were the only ones in the building.

Edging open the door with the barrel of her gun, Patty took a breath and surmised if this was a ghost that had followed them home she’d happily deionize it. If it was a bugler, she’d happily blow a hole through them. Either way, she approached the washing machine, the semi-dark room glowing a bright cherry red as she charge the protons.          

“Don’t shoot! Don’t shoot! It’s me!”

The sudden appearance of Erin popping out of the washer like a jack-in-the-box, arms raised high and eyes wide, almost had Patty squeezing the trigger out of reflex.

“Jesus Christ!” the historian recoils, a hand against her chest. “What the actual fuck? Do you want to die? Because this is how people die! What in the sweet hell are you doing?”

Erin’s supplied answer is anything but reassuring. “Helping Holtz check the calibrations in the washing machine drum?” The look Patty gives her could kill a horse at thirty paces, so she amends her statement with a quick, “Practicing hide-and-seek with Holtz and Kevin.”

“Kevin doesn’t have any tournaments right now!”

“That’s not true.”

Patty almost screams when Kevin pops out of an overflowing hamper to her right. The buff receptionist sports what looked like a modified ghillie suit made out of sewn together bits of laundry. “I’ve got one coming up in a few weeks. Erin’s teaching me how to make Ghibli suits.”

“Ghillie suits,” Erin corrects with a familiar giggle that earns her another severe look from Patty. Sinking back down, Erin stars up at the taller woman owlishly from the bottom of a washer, blue eyes too bright to be normal.

“I was teaching her how to become one with the spin-cycle.” Patty hears Holtz’s smoky voice say from behind her, serving to startle the historian for the third time that day. Apparently, the blonde had been hiding in the ceiling pipes. “Fabric softener is our god now. We worship it and feed it as many eatable fabrics as possible.”

“Oh my god, get your skinny asses out of here before I decide to shoot you three for good measure,” Patty snaps, slinging her proton gun back into its holster.

Looking sheepish, Erin climbs out—a slightly more difficult task than actually getting into the industrial sized washer— and takes a seat on the matching dryer. Her pout, however, is short-lived when she spots Holtz over the historian’s shoulder.

“Hey, Patty,” Holtz calls, barely containing her own giggles. “Patty, who am I?”

Muttering a prayer for calm and patience, she turns and feels her eyes go wide. “Put my bra back right now, Holtzmann!”

Grinning like an idiot, Holtzmann fastens the sturdy undergarment around her chin and position the large, lacey cups over her ears, looking like a laundry version of Princess Leia. Erin bursts into helpless laughter, almost toppling off the dryer.

Patty makes a swipe at the smaller woman and misses, now forced to take chase when the engineer bolts. Erin’s not far behind, stumbling with the two into the unofficial waiting room. Patty, having longer legs, almost catches Holtzmann when the blonde redirected her route, climbs up a table and its adjacent bookshelf, and makes a flying leap for the closest fireman’s pole. Feet gripping the steel, she begins to shimmy up.

“Holtzmann!”

“Batman!” she growls in the customary Christian Bale voice.

“Erin, get your girlfriend down before I start throwing shit!”

“Hey, Patty…”

When Patty turns, she lets out a, “Oh, what the hell?!” because Erin sports a bra over top her blouse that looks like it might belong to the historian. Or it might be Abby’s. Either way, it’s two sizes too big, almost as large as the grin on the physicist’s face.

“Abby!” Patty calls into the firehouse, scowling up at Holtz from the base of the pole. She’d never reach Erin in time before the woman bolted too. “I’ve got one of them treed. You take Erin.”

“Nope,” the researcher emerges from the kitchen with a sandwich in hand, shaking her head. Erin slides her a cautious look, one that Abby ignores. “Welcome to the club. Holtzmann’s stolen almost all of my bras. She’ll return them in a day or two.”

“They make great slingshots,” the blonde giggles, already three-quarters up the pole.

“You better not be using my bra as a slingshot,” Abby snaps, pointing at the woman with her sandwich. “God knows they’re too damn expensive for shit like that.”

“Underwear then!”

Abby snorts, speaking around a mouth full of food. “You of all people know I don’t wear any.”

“Oh my god,” Patty sighs, closing her eyes and rubbing her temples.

“That bother you?” Abby quirks an eyebrow.

“Hell no. I just don’t need to have this conversation right now while Holtzmann hangs twenty feet off the ground with my _fucking bra on her head like a drunk frat boy_!”

“What do I get if I give it back?” she asks in a sing-song voice, looking down with a bemused smile.

“Not a casket six feet underground.”

“Dead comes to us all, my tall friend. Try again.”

“How about I buy you one of every Pringle at the corner store.”

Holtzmann freezes, eyes narrowing. “We do not jest about the salty parabolas and their purchasing.”

“You two give me back my bras, and I swear I’ll buy you one of each. I’ll even buy Erin a pint of that fancy mint ice cream she likes so much even though she doesn’t deserve it for being an enabler.”

“A bargain has been struck!” Bending backwards—her crossed legs the only thing keeping Holtzmann secured to the pole—she begins a slow descent like an acrobat out of a Sirc-de-Soley routine. She lets Patty rip the bra from her head before flipping off the pole. Erin hands over her pilfered undergarment, biting into her bottom lip to keep from laughing.

“You all need to stop hanging out so much. Erin’s picking up all your bad habits.”

“I’m training her well,” Holtz grins, sending the physicist a wink. “If you’re heading out, I wanna come. Make sure you get the good stuff. We can get dinner, too!”

“Man, it’s almost eight,” Patty complains. “Why is it you all can’t eat at normal times?”

“Cause we’re not normal,” the blonde supplies, dragging Erin down onto the couch with her and blowing a raspberry on her bare shoulder before being shoved off by a giggling physicist.

“Ain’t that the fucking truth. All right. We’ll pick up something light for dinner. Kev!” Patty shouts down the hall. “You staying or leaving?”

“I’m not here right now!” comes the muffled reply.

“How long is he going to stay here?”

“Until his boyfriend comes back from visiting his parents,” Holtz replies, dancing away after poking Patty in the ribs and shrugging on her coat.

“Great. I’ll get him something too. Please, for the love of god, you and Kevin be normal people while we’re gone.”

“No promises,” Erin grins.

Patty rolls her eyes, following Holtzmann out of the firehouse. Abby doesn’t say anything, heading back into the kitchen. The slight makes Erin’s smile slip, but she lets it go. Abby would come round eventually. She always did.

When the two return a short time later, Erin sits sprawled out on the downstairs sofa watching some nonsensical TV show. While Holtz digs enthusiastically into the Chinese takeout sack, the physicist begins to set the table, pausing when Abby snags her box of food and heads for the other room.

“Oh, come on, Abby,” she calls over her shoulder. “It’s been forever since we all had a meal together.”

“What a blessing that’s been,” Abby mutters low enough she thinks no one can hear. Of course, that wasn’t the case. It never was. Not when she shared a home with someone the government would consider superhuman.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Erin blinks, pausing in her reach for glasses. Patty and Holtz give her a questioning look on account they hadn’t heard Abby speak.

"Nothing,” the researcher mumbles without looking up, taking a heavy seat in the chair across from Erin and jabbing a fork into her noodles. “I’m just tired. Don’t worry about it.”

The four dig in once drinks are doled out but conversation is in short supply. Patty and Holtz try to keep things afloat but the tension they’d all been more or less avoiding pulls at them like individual anchors around their legs.

“So…” Patty broaches after a nervous glance around the table, nudging Abby with her shoulder. “Your ears still bothering you? I know you went and saw someone about the ringing. What’d the doc say?”

“Losing your hearing so young?” Holtz grins over her purple cup of kool-aid. “All those concerts we went to finally catching up to you, huh?”

Abby stills, staring down at her Styrofoam container. The pause is long enough the other three notice, but no one feels the bottom drop out of the room save for one. It’s like a switch being thrown.

“No,” she says to the table. “Apparently, I have inner ear damage, but none of you would know a damn thing about it, would you?”

Forks freeze mid-way to mouths, three sets of eyes snapping up and level on her. Holtz is the first to break the stunned spell, licking her lips and fidgeting, stomach squirming with unease.

“What?”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Can you speak up?” Abby tilts her head, motioning at her ear.

“That’s not funny,” Erin frowns, sobering. Out of the corner of her eye, she watches Holtz draw back, leg beginning to bounce under the table. Patty’s expression is unreadable.

“It wasn’t meant to be.” Abby lifts her gaze and settles it on Erin, the intensity setting the short distance between them alight. “But then again, we’re not serious scientists anymore, so why shouldn’t I joke a little?”

Erin leans back, unsure how to take this shift in atmosphere. “Where is this coming from?”

Abby pushes out a laugh more brittle than graphite. “Do you have the time? I mean, I know you’re busy with your ‘research’, but if you have a few minutes, I’d be more than happy to spell things out for you.”

“I wish you would,” Erin replies stoically, adopting what she liked to think was an academic posture: back ramrod straight and hands in her lap.

“Fine,” Abby snaps, throwing down her fork. “I want us to stop our ecto-experiments.”

Well, that certainly came out of left field. “Why?”

“I think the answer to that is pretty obvious.”

“Apparently not, since I’m asking.” Erin sits back, arching an eyebrow. Then something dawns on her like a lightbulb going off. “You think what happened to you during the banshee bust has something to do with the ecto-coin I gave you.”

“Ding, ding, ding! We have a winner!”

Erin pulls a face, feeling on the defensive. “None of our supporting data suggests what happened that night had anything to do with PKE.”

“A biased claim made by the woman who’s been using ecto-objects constantly since we discovered them.”

The physicist feels a trickle of cold snake down her spine at about the same time her face flushes. “My calculations aren’t biased, Abby.”

“No, but they can be tweaked in your favor because if it came out that what we’re doing is potentially harmful to ourselves that’s it. That’s the end of the research, and that’s not what _you_ want. _You_ want so badly to continue this thread of investigation regardless of the evidence suggesting we’re playing with fire.”

Bristling—red crawling up her neck—Erin tries hard to weather the flare of her anger at the jab. “If you want out of the experiment, fine. All you had to do was say so, but don’t sit there and suggest what happened during the banshee bust was anything but an accident.”

“It wasn’t!” Abby slams her hands down on the table, hard, upsetting the salt and pepper shakers and sufficiently startling her friends. Holtz almost jumps from the table but can’t bring herself to move, frozen. “What happened to me during and after wasn’t normal, Erin! We’ve faced banshees before, but none of them have ever screamed so loud I lost all motor function. My hearing has never been an issue before using ecto-objects!”

“Which suggests whatever happened during the bust was an anomaly!” Erin shouts back, matching Abby’s volume.

Abby throws up her hands in the customary ‘oh my god’ motion. “Why can’t you accept the fact that this shit is hazardous?”

“Because we have no evidence to support otherwise! Look, I’m sorry that bust rattled you, and I’m sorry about the after effects—”

“Do not,” Abby warns, face growing dark, “say you’re sorry for anything that’s happened. Do not, Erin. You haven’t given a flying fuck about me since the bust. None of you have!”

And here it was, the root of the issue growing between the four.

“What in the fresh hell?” This time, Patty interjects before anyone else, incredulity coloring her expression. “What are you talking about?”

Spreading her hands against the table, Abby takes a shuddering breath through her nose, expression pinched. “Whenever something happens to you three the world stops turning but the second it happens to me I’m told it was just an accident and ignored.”

“We’re Ghostbusters, Abby.” Erin rumbles, crossing her arms imperiously over her chest. “We go into dangerous situation all the time, so why does your moment stand above the time I was dangled out a window thirteen stories off the ground? Or the time Patty was nearly drowned in an abandoned pool? Or the time Holtz was dragged through the junk yard and nearly crushed under a falling car? Why do all of these mean so much less to you? Is it because they didn’t happen to you?”

“We stopped for three weeks after that incident with Holtz in the junkyard. Three weeks! The mayor had to threaten us with pulling funding before we went back to work. When Patty almost drowned we took a week off and only went back to work when she gave the go-ahead. You didn’t show up to work for nearly a month after the high-rise bust, but me? I get the fucking shit kicked out of me by a banshee looking to blow us all to kingdom come, and I’m stiffed with a bottle of Advil and told to shake it off!”

“We didn’t mean it that way! We can’t read your mind, Abby. Sometimes you have to give us something more to go on than a passive-aggressive ‘I’m okay’. You refused to go to the hospital that day despite all of us urging you otherwise! What were we supposed to do? Explain it to me. Please. How are we supposed to help you when you don’t ask for it?”

“Jesus Christ, I shouldn’t have to ask for it! It should come standard. After that initial first night, none of you save for Patty lifted a fucking finger to help and that hurts!”

"That night we stayed with you until you calmed down and deionized. Don’t sit there and lie to my face about something you weren’t even semi-conscious for,” Erin snarls, unsure where this flush of temper was coming from. Usually, when she and Abby fought, she lost the greater majority of her words to the maelstrom of her mind. Not tonight. Tonight everything was clear and her words cut like a knife.

"Oh that’s rich. One day of help suddenly outweighs the weeks of overall neglect.”

Erin lets out a nervous laugh to vent the toxic buildup of emotions from her system. “So let me get this straight. The whole reason you’re angry right now is because you feel we didn’t pay attention to you? God, what’s your age again?”

Reckless. Stupid. Shut up. Erin heard it all screamed at her from the self-preserving part of her brain still trying to salvage the situation.

“I could ask you the same thing,” Abby seethes. “But then again, I know what age you’ve been stunted at for more than thirty years. I bend over backward taking care of this team. When busts go bad, I make sure each and every one of you are ready to come back before you ever step foot into the firehouse. I guess my mistake was thinking the same courtesy would be extended to me.”

Shoving away from the table, Abby leaves the building, slamming the backdoor shut behind her. The resounding crack has then all jumping. At the same time, Holtzmann all but lunges from her chair before the echo has a chance to fade, bolting upstairs. A few seconds later Erin hears the lab door slam shut like the period at the end of a sentence.

"Shit,” she exhales, realizing what had happened. Holtzmann didn’t do arguing. Couldn’t stomach it, actually, either withdrawing into herself as a defense mechanism or seeking an escape.  

Alone in the kitchen with Patty, food forgotten, Erin leans back in her chair, trying to compile her thoughts into a cohesive unit now that the flush of her anger was gone. “I don’t understand. We were all there for her. We all helped where we could.”

“But we could have done more, and that’s on us,” Patty says with a sad twist of her mouth, rising from the table and taking her half-eaten plate of food with her.

“It’s not like we haven’t faced worse things in the past!”

“In the past, baby. Fear isn’t something you grow immune to. It's something you develop a tolerance for.”

“But none of us have gone anywhere!” Erin motions at the room to drive her point home. “We’ve not abandoned her like she thinks we have!”

“She doesn’t feel that way, and when someone tells you you’ve hurt them you don’t get to say you haven’t. You get to listen to their explanation and try to fix things. That’s not an arguable point, babydoll. I’m…gonna go after her and see if I can calm her down. You should probably check on Holtzy.”

Now completely alone, Erin pushes her meal away in disgust, bracing her elbows on the table and putting her face in her hands. It took several minutes for her to gather the gumption to leave the kitchen. From the base of the stairs, she can hear the volume of Holtzmann’s music and can’t bring herself to go in. Not right now. Not with her hands shaking like they were and a familiar, unwelcome sluggishness settling at the base of her skull.

Bypassing the lab, Erin heads to the third floor, entering her room and sitting on the edge of her bed without really realizing it. Staring between her sneakers, she goes through several gestures of unease, fingers twitching against her jeans, before finally sucking in a hard breath and reaching into the bedside drawer.

A part of her wanted to brush off Abby’s worries as unfounded. A part of her worried her best friend might be right. So when the micro-canister finds its way into her hands, Erin withdraws the ecto-coin from inside and holds it up, letting the glow suffuse the room like it alone could give her the answers she sought. And it gives her an answer, one that clears the fog from her brain and steadies the shake of her hand.     

More than an hour later, Holtz finds the physicist sitting on the roof, watching the New York skyline twinkle in the distance like so many glittering stars. Ever so lightly, Erin turns her head in the direction of the metal door opening and motions her girlfriend forward without a word, letting the younger woman side into the outdoor loveseat beside her, wool blanket over her shoulders.

“When did you learn to do that little trick?” Holtz asks quietly, motioning with her head to Erin’s right hand gently juggling the coin across her knuckles. The physicist blinks and looks down, unsure when she’d started doing that.

“I um…didn’t know I knew how do that, honestly. Must just be a nervous tick.”

"You’ve always been good with your hands,” Holtz half-heartedly teases, not feeling up to her usual antics.

“I had a good teacher.”

“Patty, uh, called,” the engineer mumbles almost shyly, drawing her knees up to her chest and huddling closer. “Abby’s going to stay at her apartment for a while.”

“I think that’s a good idea,” Erin nods, choosing her words carefully, aware she still held a fair amount of acidity towards the fight they’d had.

"Erin…” Holtz sucks in her bottom lip, fighting to find the right words. “Did we really mess up that badly?”

"I think we might have,” comes the quiet, reluctant reply. “But at the same time, I feel like Abby’s throwing all of this out of proportion. I don’t know. It’s a tangled mess.”

“I don’t do well disappointing people,” Holtz sniffs, clearly at odds with herself. “Or making them angry with me or being angry. I don’t like the feeling it leaves on my skin.”

Rubbing Holtzmann’s shoulder, Erin leans in and plants a gentle kiss on top of the blonde’s head. “You have never been a disappointment. Ever.”

“Tell that to my mother’s side of the family,” the engineer snorts.

“Fuck them,” Erin snorts right back. “You’re brilliant and amazing and I’m beyond lucky to have someone like you in my life. I’m also sorry for shouting in front of you. Abby and I should have taken our argument away from the kitchen table.”

“It’s okay,” Holtz shrugs, wrapping her arms around her girlfriend for both support and anchoring, nuzzling into her neck.

“It’s not,” Erin rebuts with a sigh. “And I promise to do better in the future.”

A faint nod is all the response she gets, which was fine. The two remain on the roof until the chill gets enough to drive them back inside before falling into bed, both exhausted for various reasons.  

* * *

         

It takes Abby two days to return to the firehouse. In her absence, the tension lingering within the brick walls had become an afterthought, but it didn’t remain that way. It wasn’t just an unavoidable strain now, like a lit powder keg waiting to blow. Everyone felt it, therefore everyone tread as lightly as possible.

The first real bust to come through almost a week before Halloween was both a blessing and a curse, though bust was a light term. Something the girls started doing on the side was a form of fumigation for older buildings. Since ley line spikes were still a problematic thing following the Time Square incident, older buildings and historical sights tended to encounter seemingly random infestation hauntings. One day there wouldn’t be a ghost and the next there would, so the Ghostbusters set up a revolving schedule for government and higher paying clients to “fumigate” every so many weeks.

The fumigation sight this month was a new client dropped on them by Mayor Bradley. Because of their government funding, the ‘busters were subject to the enigmatic Mayor’s clientele from time to time. According to Abby—who had begrudgingly taken the contract—the building they were to fumigate belonged to a longtime friend of the Mayor who was seeking to renovate a mansion outside the city. No actual entity had shown itself, but the owner was convinced something paranormal was happening.

The girls arrive well after sundown, pulling up a long drive flanked by scruffy vegetation lost to the outer-city shadow. The construction and remodel crews had long since gone home, ensuring the four they had full run of the property.

“This is some horror movie shit,” Patty whistles from the passenger seat, staring up at a building that looked a bit too similar to the mansion featured in Steven King’s “Rose Red”.

"Wouldn’t be a proper bust if it wasn’t,” Holtz says, rolling out of the backseat and popping the rear hatch. Out slid the metal table with their gear, packs already humming happily in the cool night air.

"You two planning on being civil today, or did I need to pack a spray bottle just in case you start scratching at each other's eyes?” Patty asks loud enough both Abby and Erin can hear, gaze drifting between them.

“That depends. Is Erin’s going run off again for a solo mission or actually stick with the team this time?” Abby shrugs while buckling her pack onto her back, shooting Erin a sidelong look.

“Fuck off, Abby,” the brunette mutters, doing her best to keep her best friend’s jabs from finding purchase. It was harder than it appeared. Abby, however, doesn’t react, shouldering her proton gun and making her way up the marble steps to the front doors.

“Man, I should have packed catnip if this is how it’s going down,” Patty sighs, stuffing a handful of net-balls into her jumpsuit.

“You know a few things about angry pussies?” Holtz can’t help but ask, trying her hardest to keep the mood as light as possible. She gets a wary, bemused smile from Erin and an eye-roll from Patty, which was close enough.

The interior of the mansion was about as cliché as the exterior. Marble everything. Great sweeping staircases. Long hallways. Edifices of dusty cherubs and Rococo and Gothic stylings. Garish. Gaudy. Or at least it would be once the remodeling was finished. As it stood, there was too much dust, decay, and rot, barely raising it above the standard of an abandoned building.

On a paint-spattered table in soaring foyer, Abby unrolls a map provided by the Mayor’s office, illuminating it with a flashlight. “Standard sweep tonight, ladies. Since no actual entity has been spotted, we each take a level, so pick your poison.”

Patty and Holtz decide to take the left wing and subsequent cellar. Abby decides on the right wing and first floor while Erin takes the last remaining two floors. Second security checks are done for all their equipment, traps handed out, net-balls charged, and spook-dars activated before the team sets off in their designated directions.

“Right,” Abby nods, rolling up the map and stowing it in her coveralls. “We meet back here in thirty minutes, regroup, and set off again. No surprises. Call on the walkie if you find everything.”

“Think we know the drill,” Erin smiles thinly, earning her a cutting look from Abby.

“Just making sure we’re all aware of what we’re _supposed_ to be doing and not what we _want_ to do.”

“That makes absolutely no sense, but _whatever_. Back in thirty.”   

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” Abby calls to her retreating friend. Erin’s turn is slow, eyebrows raising. “No blue courage tonight?”

“Seems I left it back at the firehouse along with your decency,” Erin quips, knowing exactly what Abby was alluding to. She didn’t have an ecto-object on her tonight.

“Stop!” The shout was so uncharacteristic for the engineer it actually pulls everyone to a standstill. Out of the four women, Holtz felt the most conflicted, straddling the line between championing for her partner but also standing up for a longtime best friend. Either way she spun it, someone was going to walk away angry, but she couldn’t handle the unfair jabs made at the woman she loved. “Just…stop. All this fucking fighting isn’t doing a damn bit of good. We’re going round and round, so just…let it go. Can we do this bust and go home? Please?”

Both Erin and Abby stare at one another as if daring the other to say more. Erin only shifts her gaze when she feels Holtz’s hand slide into hers, the engineer leaning in to better capture her attention.

“Please? Just let it go.”

“Fine,” the physicist deflates, threading her fingers with Holtz’s and giving her a solid nod.

“Fine,” Abby parrots back. “We meet back here in thirty minutes.”

Holtz kisses her girlfriend on the cheek, smile sympathetic and warm, before heading in the direction off to find the cellar, Patty a little slower to follow.

“You best check yourself, baby,” the historian rumbles once Erin had mounted the stairs and moved a fair distance off, taking Abby by the shoulder. “I know you got a temper, but some of those comments were out of line.”

It wasn’t as if Abby could rightly defend herself or even disagree because she knew Patty was right. She had a temper that fueled her mouth faster than her brain could catch up. Always had and likely always would.

“I’ve about had it with the attitude, and I know Holtzy feels the same way. At some point, you and Erin are going to have to grow a pair and apologize because I ain’t putting up with this much longer.” The historian doesn’t wait for a response, moving off to catch up with Holtzmann and leaving Abby to climb the stairs with a heavy sigh and an even heavier heart.

* * *

 

Finally away from the group, Erin stops at the mouth of a long hallway and sags to the hardwood, hands in her hair, knees to her chest. She didn’t want to cry—fought the overcoming urge with all the force of her being—but still felt the telltale warmth settle into her nose at the same time her vision turned watery. It wasn’t like Erin was unaccustomed to fights like this. Nothing recently compared, no, but much of her child and young adulthood had been riddled with similar verbal scrapes, some turning physical by their end. Granted, in the past, she’d also had Abby there to help soften the blow, but now that her best friend was the one throwing the punches, it threw Erin for a loop and reawakened old wounds.

 _This is ridiculous,_ the cynical part of herself growled, drowning out the self-loathing threatening to rear its ugly head. _You two are having a fight. That’s all. Grow up and be the bigger person here rather than crying on the floor like a child. How old are you again?_

Old enough to know at some point they had to reconcile.

Sobering and palming the unshed tears from her eyes, Erin centers herself and does what she did best: pick herself back up and carry on like she wasn’t threatening to disintegrate from the inside out. There was enough fragile, self-assured dignity left in her system she could soldier through tonight and pick up the pieces later.

Heart in the bust but head elsewhere, Erin meanders the halls, checking her spook-dar every now and then but hardly paying attention. The mansion quite literally lived up to its namesake of being undeniably large, meaning she had ample time to wander the more than ten room on the second floor alone.

Doing her best to distract herself from the possible implosion of a longtime friendship, Erin doesn’t register where her feet were taking her. Only when the boards underfoot squeal and creak unhappily against her weight—splintering in some cases when she abruptly shifts—does Erin snap out of her reflection and look around.

The room had probably once been an office or library, judging by the size and amount of barren bookshelves. In its heyday, it wasn’t hard to imagine the shelves lined with leather bound tomes— something Patty would have salivated over. Now it was a hovel, a cavernous corpse, who’s majestic windows had been torn out of their panes like eyes plucked from a dead man’s skull. Tattered curtains to her left wave forlornly in the gentle breeze, shredded lungs sighing in their afterlife.

Edging in further after a preliminary sweep with her equipment, Erin catches sight of a familiar shape and forgets the danger of walking on rotting wood. Her fingers ghost across the dusty surface of the grand piano, memories of happier times springing to the forefront of her mind. Her grandmother had been an accomplished pianist before arthritis stole her dexterity. Erin used to love listing to the woman play, watching her fingers wake dizzying melodies.

It was towards those silvery keys Erin now moves, the fallboard raised, allowing the ivory and ebony to catch in the dim, ambient light coming through the windows. A smile tugs at her lips when she strikes a random key, sending a shivering note into the air. Out of tune but still powerful. She moves to another set, testing as she goes, until her finger hits the C key and all at once lightning strikes and the world fades to black in a blast of ecto-blue.

* * *

 

 

It was both the music and the ping of her spook-dar that catches Abby’s attention as she crept through the desolate halls of the second floor—hesitantly seeking her best friend—footfalls echoed by the creak of rotten boards. For a time there had only been silence, which was to be expected, but then her equipment picked up a ping of activity directly before the haunting melody pierced the blue-black gloom, snaking down corridors and slithering melancholic into her ears. There was something perverse about the choice of piano chords, something wrong.

Logic told her to follow. Reason suggested she do the opposite and leave well enough alone. Responsibility dictated she check every anomaly, no matter how it made her feel, so she follows the music to its source.

The room at the end of the long hall on the third floor sits abandoned and sorely neglected, much like the rest of the home. In another time, it might have been a study or a library. Now it was just so much dead space.

Abby takes the room in a glance from the doorway, licking her lips nervously. The music continues, strongest here, filling the night with a chilling sonnet. She swallows hard and adjusts her grip on her gun, checking the spook-dar once more. Sure enough, it pings, showing the location of an entity as a red dot on a field of green.

With calculated steps, the researcher enters, scanning her surroundings for viable threats. As far as she can tell, there’s only one present, and not for the first time, Abby feels the uneasy drop of her stomach turn into an icy vortex circulating within her core. Then she spots a figure in the far corner and freezes. Her mind flashes back to the banshee, heart rate spiking. The tremble in her hands grows in degree as she nears, proton gun illuminating the way like a mechanical torch.   

Silhouetted against one of the farthest windows, a figure sits eerily still in front of an antique piano. The instrument’s dark shape swallows the weak moonlight, making it a shadow among shadows. The floor beneath the behemoth sags dangerously where the boards lack the strength to bear its weight, making it a wrecking ball timebomb. 

Venturing further through sheer force of will, Abby feels her blood suddenly chill in her veins.

In all the years she’d known Erin the woman had never once shown any musical inclination, yet here she sat, posture perfect, fingers moving in a steady, deliberate rhythm, waking a melody from an instrument that shouldn’t have possessed a voice to sing. Her face, veiled by the shroud of her undone hair, remains hidden from view as she plays, ensuring the only glimpse of living flesh comes from the pale stretch of her fingers.

The melody becomes suddenly embolden, picking up speed and complexity, pushing the maestro faster until she bends into the song.   

"Erin?” Abby shouldn’t have spoken. She should have backed out of the room and gotten Holtz or Patty…or a priest.

The music doesn’t stop. The hands coaxing the notes into existence do.

Slowly, Erin leans back, hands folded demurely in her lap, ancient wood groaning under her weight. She doesn’t turn. Instead, her eyes watch the keys continue to play out their drama for a moment more before standing with prolonged deliberance that almost boarders on menacing. She’s a shadow uncurling, becoming taller and leaner against the glow of the windows. When Erin finally turns—Abby believes she can hear the fibers and joints in the other woman’s neck creaking with the motion—the researcher feels the world tilt dangerously to one side.

White eyes pierced with a single black, pinprick of a pupil stare at her from across the room. They’re bright enough to illuminate Erin’s face and cold enough even Medusa would have found herself petrified. Abby certainly can’t move. Doesn’t even know if she’s breathing. Can focus on nothing but those hateful white orbs boring into her skull, staring her down like a shark on the opposite side of a cage. Only there was no cage around Abby. No protection from the predator making her approach. Attack was eminent. Nothing looked at you like that and didn’t lunge for the jugular when the opportunity presented itself.

Erin nears. Ten feet away. Close enough Abby can make out a stripe of white spreading outward from the part separating her hair into sections. Close enough she can taste the ionization in the air, metallic menthol blooming in the back of her throat.

Five feet. The music swells as if spurred on by the amount of terror circulating in the shorter woman. Erin lifts her hand. Abby clenches her proton gun tight, finger on the trigger. She’s seeing spots in her peripheral vision possibly caused by hyperventilation.

Two feet. A piano key appears in the taller woman’s hand, waved into existence like she’s performing a slight of hand. An ecto-object. Abby can’t decide which to look at: the object or the horror that had become her best friend. She settles on Erin out of self-preserving necessity.

“Looks like I found my blue courage after all.”   

It’s all Erin says, and her voice sends shivers rocketing down Abby’s spine. It’s like two women talking at once through a single set of vocal cords. Harmonic. Unnatural. Properly terrifying.

Palming the ecto-object, Erin walks past, following Abby with her gaze until finally breaking eye-contact at the door. Framed in the doorway, she lifts her hand once more and snaps her fingers. The sudden bang of the fallboard slamming down makes Abby jump. The music stops, silenced under a guillotine, and she feels its absence like she’d lost the sense to hear altogether.

“Thirty minutes, Abby. We can’t be late catching up with Holtz and Patty. Wouldn’t want you to chase after me now would we?” Erin says, voice barely above a whisper, but a smile evident in her tone.

When Abby looks back, she catches a glimpse of electric blue energy glowing in the seams of Erin's teeth. Then she's gone, and the only sound Abby’s able to hear is the rasp of her labored breathing and Erin’s receding steps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can you all feel that? That's the bass dropping out of this fic. We're finally moving into the shit I've been wanting to write from the beginning. Everyone, meet Stage 2 Erin ;)
> 
> Reviews seriously help me write faster and let me know how you all feel about the progression of the story. Please and thank you!


	10. Blitz

“Erin’s possessed!”

The shrieked warning comes crackling through the walkie attached to Holtz’s shoulder, startling her out of her animated creeping. Up until that moment, the house had been quiet. Not eerily quiet. There was a special type of tension to a building when ghosts were attempting to play hide-and-seek with the girls. This was the calm quiet of ‘there isn’t anything here’. Even the cellar—a usual hotspot for spirit activity on account it was closer to the soil—lacked any form of creep-factor save for shadowy corners and a serious case of mold.

Holtz and Patty both turn and lock stares from across the room.

“Oh my sweet Jesus, if she’s dicking around, I’m gonna kill that woman,” Patty rolls her eyes, taking the opportunity to do a quick sweep with her spook-dar and leaving Holtz to reply.

Sucking in a breath and holding it for a three count, Holtz squeezes the walkie’s talk button, tilting her head to the side so she can speak into the mic. “Uhh, that’s a weird way of saying the two of you’ve made up,” she jests lightly.

“I’m not fucking joking!” Abby shouts back, sounding like she was sprinting hard. “Erin’s possessed and heading right for you guys! Stop her before she leaves the building!”

There’s a beat of uneasy tension between the two before Patty and Holtz take off like rockets for the main floor, stumbling over each other in their haste to be the first to make the interception. When they do eventually swing into the foyer and skid to a stop, Erin was standing on the last set of stairs looking more than a little confused by her collogues’ harried reappearance. Her confusion morphs into concern when Patty raises her gun.

“Hey guys,” she greets with a nervous smile, one that was decidedly lacking any blue glow. In fact, had Holtz and Patty not gotten Abby’s shouted message, they wouldn’t have suspected there was anything wrong. Erin looked like her normal self, save for the skunk stripe of white in her hair that hadn’t been there before the team split up. “Umm…is everything okay?”

“Hey there, hot shot,” Holtz smiles shakily, approaching with the slow caution one might use when nearing a wild animal. “Can you chill a second before you leave?”

“Leave?” Erin blinks, brow furrowing. “I’m not leaving. I was heading upstairs to start my rounds.”

“You did that a half hour ago, baby,” Patty says, still training her charged proton gun on the physicist.

That clearly wasn’t something Erin anticipated hearing. “What? No, that’s not right. We were just talking…”

“Oh thank god!” Abby all but jumps the final few stairs, landing squarely behind Erin with a loud thud. Her shins wouldn’t thank her in the morning, that’s for damn sure. “Holtz, get her pack off.”

“What the hell is your problem?” Erin snaps angrily, twisting around to glare at her best friend who retreats a step as if she expected the physicist to swing at her.

“You’re not Erin,” Abby states by way of explanation.

“What?” Erin laughs in disbelief, making a face. “Yes, I am.”

“No, you’re not. I saw you upstairs. That wasn’t Erin. _You_ are not Erin. So I’m talking to the thing hiding inside. Get out now and we won’t have to make this process any more uncomfortable than it needs to be.”

Growing increasingly nervous by the randomness of her friends, Erin retreats only for Holtz and Patty to edge forward, blocking her path. “Guys, this isn’t funny.”

“You see any of us joking?” Abby rumbles.

“I’m not possessed! How could I be possessed if I’ve not run into any ghosts? The house is empty.”

“You’ve been gone for a half-hour, baby,” Patty supplies. “Time loss is the first thing we look at when we suspect possession.”

“I know that,” Erin bites back, starting to feel an unwelcome itch settle between her shoulder blades she twitches to scratch. “I helped write the rules, but I’m not possessed. I’m just…” She notices for the first time the world around her was uncharacteristically sharp, and there was a lingering taste of metallic menthol in the back of her throat. “I’m ionized? How am I ionized?”

“Probably because of the ecto-object you have,” Abby says, moving so she’s beside Erin on the stairs rather than behind.

Erin’s nostrils flare with an irritated exhale. “I told you, I don’t have any ecto-objects with me! I left them all at home!”

“Check your right hand, sweetheart.”

“There’s nothing in my…” Looking down, the brunette realized her right hand was, in fact, closed around something. Hesitantly, she uncurled her fingers and stared down at a single white piano key. It hummed faintly against her palm, emitting a blue aura strong enough to be seen in the light. “What the hell?”

“Abby,” Holtz calls, trying her best to keep the situation from escalating into something that could devolve into a physical struggle. Judging by Erin’s stiff stance, she was already two steps too close to swinging on her best friend. “Have you checked her ghost-be-gone? See if it’s gone off before we jump to conclusions.”

That was, actually, a solid idea.

Edging close enough she could spot the black and green beeper they all kept attached to their belts, Abby was able to see the device had been hit with energy powerful enough to char the machine, leaving scorch marks on Erin’s jumpsuit. Thank god the material was fire-retardant.

“It’s fried. Like, crispy fried.”

“Ah shit,” Holtz winces, hating herself for what came next. “Looks like we’ve got a cling-on, Captain.”

Erin looked positively mortified. “Holtz, I’m not possessed! You of all people would know if I was!”

“Sorry, Er. The evidence kind of speaks for itself.” Exchanging one of her pistols for what looked like a spool of pink tubing attached to her hip Wonder Woman style, Holtz lets the rope coil at her feet. It was an old, hollow plastic jump rope she’d filled with sea salt. Thanks to Abby’s researching into spiritual repellents, they discovered salt repelled entities fairly well, creating a sort of temporary barrier.

Confident her team was now on the same page, Abby shifts closer to Erin. “Patty, do you want to do this one, or should I?”

“Rabbit looks like she’s gonna bolt,” Patty sucks her teeth, stowing her gun. “I’ll come get her. You get out Thumper.”

“No,” Erin warns with a slight tremble in her voice. “Do not get out Thumper. We’re not using that thing here. Or on me. Most importantly on me.”

“Something a possessed Erin would say,” Abby says, a hint of triumph in her tone.

“I’m not possessed!”

“Holtz, get the salt ring ready. Patty, come get our spooky friend here.”

“I liked it so much I put a ring around it…” Holtzmann hums nervously, trying to keep the shakes from her hands. The joke, however, falls flat.

Possessions were a dicey game. The ‘busters had only experienced two in their five year career. How Patty had slapped Rowan out of Abby remained a mystery. Many theories had been formulated, but the ‘busters had struggled for two days to get an entity out of Patty. Holtz developed the ghost-be-gones after that to help prevent future possessions, but she’d also created the aptly named Thumper in case an entity _did_ find its way into one of them.

Erin jumps when she feels a hand reach around and unbuckle her pack from around her waist.

“Easy, easy,” Abby warns when the brunette flinches and tries to turn, eyes round and fearful. “Just gonna get this off you so the pack doesn’t fry you when Thumper goes off.”

“Abby, stop. Please. Listen to me,” Erin begs, heart beginning to pound in her neck. “I’m me. Ask me anything. Ask me something only I would know.”

“You know it doesn’t work like that,” Abby sighs, unable to fight the flashbacks from when Rowan had rooted around in her head like a bloodhound. He’d known almost everything about her in a matter of minutes, working as thoroughly as a computer virus. There wasn’t a more violating feeling than having someone force access into your most private memories, and a part of Abby thaws towards Erin from one heartbeat to the next. Angry though she might have been, she’d never wish possession on anyone.  

“Erin, look, I know you’re scared, and I’m sorry. I didn’t want to end the night like this. I was actually coming to look for you to…to apologize.” Abby rubs the back of her neck, not sure if this was the right time. “We need to talk. We all do, but we need to get this thing out of you first. It’ll suck for a second, but we’re all right here. Trust us. We’ve got your back.”

Erin didn’t know whether to be touched by Abby’s sudden softening or scream out of frustration. No one was listening! She was ionized, not possessed. There was a difference, but Erin didn’t have time to voice her innocence further. Patty makes it to her step and wraps strong arms around her chest, pinning the smaller woman’s arms to her sides. It takes little effort for the historian to physically lift and carry the smaller woman.

“I’m me!” Erin bellows, struggling in earnest when she sees Holtz pull a cube-like device from somewhere on her pack and set it in front of the salt ring. When activated, it would issue a powerful proton pulse—much like an EM pulse—driving the entity from Erin’s body. Though driving was a gentle term. It was more like ripping. “I’m Erin. There’s nothing in me!” She was starting to get unreasonably angry now. Unknowingly, her hands close into fists, fingers curling around the piano key. “Stop and listen to me for five seconds!”

“We’ve been listening to you, baby. And it’s okay. It’s gonna be over soon. Holtz, power up Thumper and lets—”

“ _I’m not fucking possessed!_ ”

Cold rips up Erin’s arm, exploding across her chest like she’d been pelted with half a dozen snowballs. Spearmint floods her mouth, riding on the back of heavy dose of ozone. The rush of endorphins crackling in her blood makes her heart physically skip a few beats until it regulates into an unstoppable pound, wrenching the air from her lungs in the process.

“Holy shit!” Abby kicks back, almost coming out of her skin for the second time that night when coming face-to-face with the same white eyes pricked with a single black pupil. Holtz lets out a similar expletive, unable to processes what she’s seeing.

“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god!” Patty panics, unable to see Erin’s face but watching the stripe of white in her hair creep further towards the physicist’s ears. A biting cold whips around her like a frosty aura, freezing the hair on her arms.

Going limp in Patty’s grip due to shock, Erin struggles to catch her breath, the world tilting and spinning around her until it settles like a snow globe after it’s been shaken.

“Holy shit. Oh god, I feel like I’m thirty feet in the air, what the fuck? Did the room just get bigger?” Without realizing it, the piano key slips from her fingers and drops to the floor, blue aura gone.

“Patty, put her in the circle!”

“No wait,” Holtz jumps in, grabbing Abby’s arm. “Something’s off. I think that’s actually Erin.”

“The fucking hell she is!”

Swooping down, Holtz snatches up the piano key, something she shouldn’t be able to do with her bare hands, and holds it up to Abby. “The PKE’s gone. She’s not possessed, she’s ionized!”

“Look at her!” Abby waves wildly at the panting woman.

“Look at me?” Erin squints, unable to shake the hazy halos she keeps seeing pulsing around her friends. Odd…they were each a different color. “Wh-what do I look like?”

“Mirror-mirror-mirror,” Holtz jumps frantically in place. “Patty, the mirror. Take her to the mirror!”

“Fucking calm down, Jesus.” Carrying Erin to a cloudy mirror by the door, Patty settles her in front of it but loses her grip altogether when the physicist screams in terror at her own reflection and crawls into Patty’s arms. The historian backs off, hands raised.

“Oh my god, what the hell?! Is that me?!” Climbing down off of Patty, she approaches her reflection, hesitant to touch her face for fear of what she might feel. “I’m glowing. Holy shit, guys. I’m glowing from the inside!”

The whir of a proton gun charging and the spark of a red glow behind her causes Erin to spin on her heels. Abby sighted down the barrel, face dark. “Get out of my friend, you son-of-a-bitch!”

“I’m not possessed!” Erin roars back, desperate and terrified.

“You’re fucking glowing from the inside!”

“I know, and I don’t know how I’m doing it!” Panicking, Erin tries a different method. “My name is Erin Gilbert! You and I met junior year in high school! You hated Miss. Lombard’s history class because she refused to talk about the slave trade! The two of you got into screaming matches about it at least three times!” she begins rattling off facts as fast as they would come to her. “You eat the crust of your pizza before you eat anything else and sometimes put ranch dressing on it! Every time you slept over at my house we had to watch Close Encounters while eating peanut butter and banana sandwiches!”

“Anyone could know that!” Abby bellows back, not lowering her gun.

“You were the first person I ever kissed!” Erin blurts, bringing the conversation to a grinding halt.

“Wait, what?” Patty blinks, looking down at Abby who’d gone stock still.

Beside the researcher, Holtz slowly turns, eyebrows high on her forehead and a crooked smile growing. “Whaaaat? Some juicy details you’ve left out there, Miss Yates.”

Erin doesn’t break eye contact, sweat beading along her hairline. “Abby, it’s me! It’s me, I swear.”

Abby waffles, clearly torn. This could be Erin, or it could be a spirit powerful enough to tap into her memories. She can’t help but think of what Rowan had been capable of doing. An internal war flickers across Abby’s face which ends when she readjusts her grip and slides her finger over the trigger. “Get. Out. Of. My. Friend.”

“For fuck’s sake!” Erin rages, raking her hands through her brown and white hair. Something dark flickers across her features—there one second and gone the next—that sucks the hope out of her eyes and turns them hard once more. Thunder in her scowl, Erin’s demeanor shifts from a watery pleading to galvanized steel. Her gaze snaps around the room before settling on something behind Abby.

It was reckless diving past someone holding a charged proton gun trained on her. It was downright insanity snatching up Thumper and clutch it to her chest.

"Fine,” Erin snarls. “I’ll prove it then.”

Holtzmann’s eyes go wide a half-second before everyone else realizes what’s about to happen, muscles already propelling her towards the woman without having to be told. “Erin, don’t!”

Erin does.

Slamming her palm against the activation button, the physicist is physically kicked backward—along with the rest of her colleagues—and thrown a dozen feet when the device latches onto the PKE in her system. The world turns to gray static. It feels like her internal organs are being yanked on by rare-earth magnets. Something cracks against Erin’s back. Shatters. Or maybe crumbles? Hard telling. She’s sliding to the floor, landing hard on her side, plaster dust raining down around her.

Across the room, the remaining three ‘busters struggle to their feet with vocal groans but none faster than Holtzmann who is across the room in six scrambling strides, sliding to a stop beside her girlfriend.

“Erin! Erin, baby, come on. Come on, come on, come on.” Holtz rolls Erin’s head in her direction, bending low until their faces are nearly touching. No response. “No, no, no!” she slaps the ground in time with her words. “Please, open your eyes. Baby, please.”

“I’m calling the paramedics,” Patty announces, digging out her phone. Still sitting on the ground, Abby stares dumbly forward, unsure what to make of what just happened.

“Wait!” Holtz shouts, holding out a forestalling hand. “Just, just wait. Erin? Baby, can you hear me?”

After a tense moment, the physicist returns to life with a shuttering gasp, body jerking at the sudden lance of pain ripping down her back. White eyes snap open, slow to focus. It takes her a few seconds to reorient herself.

“That…was a really…stupid idea,” she eventually wheezes, shifting against the pain.

Holtz wilts with relief, kissing Erin’s temple before rocking back on her heels. “You’re not allowed to take my spot as the team crazy, okay? That’s my job.”   

"Holtzy? Where we at?” Patty asks, still across the room.

“It’s fine, Patty. She’s fine,” Holtz calls back before turning her attention onto Erin. It was hard not to stare. Not like Holtz hadn’t been staring at this woman since first setting eyes on her back at Higgins, but this difference…this _change_ was something altogether. “Are you okay? Do you think you can stand?”

“I—“ Erin does a quick test of her limbs. Aside from the ache in her back, nothing seemed broken or dislocated. “I think so, yeah.”

“Come on, glow bug,” Holtz smiles, helping Erin find her feet.

“Oh damn,” Patty breathes when she finally sets eyes on the physicist. “That’s gonna take some getting used to.”

Erin turns to Holtz, stricken. “Am I still…” she makes a vague gesture at her face.

“Yah look like an extra from Walking Dead, minus the rot,” Holtzmann nods, adding in a quick kiss to Erin’s cheek. “But I still love yah, creepy eyes and all.”

Erin groans and puts her face in her hands. “Please tell me this isn’t permanent. I can go out looking like this.”

“Kind of a wait and see situation, Er. At least we can use you for the haunted house in a few weeks.”

“Great. I’m a Halloween prop.” Scrubbing at her face a few times—thankful it didn’t feel unlike her normal skin—Erin looks up with a sigh. “I guess now we definitively know I’m not possessed?” she helplessly shrugs, trying to find an optimistic angle.  

A heavy silence befalls the four, the kind that left everyone shifting uncomfortably like they were all wearing itchy wool sweaters. Abby speaks up first after regaining her feet thanks to Patty, feeling she needed to be the one to clear the air.

“I did what I thought was best,” she states, not looking at anyone directly while dusting off her jumpsuit. “I did what I thought needed to be done, but I’m sorry you got hurt in the process.”

“We know you did, baby,” Patty smiles, nudging the smaller researcher who offers a wan smile of her own.

At Erin’s side, Holtz rubs the back of her girlfriend’s hand with her thumb while the physicist rubs her adjacent shoulder, filtering through words she wanted to say and ones she felt obligated to regurgitate. Words like ‘it’s okay’ and ‘no big deal’.

“I…understand,” she eventually hedges. “I know it was just protocol, and because of how I apparently look, you had every right to assume, but maybe next time listen to me? I think I know my body better than most.”

“We didn’t know if you were in control of your body,” Abby argues. “That’s the problem.”

“But I did.”

“ _But we didn’t_. And unfortunately, we have to think about the team’s safety as a whole,” Abby finishes, stowing her gun and looking all but done with the conversation. “Let’s call it a night, okay? I’m tired. This has been a shit few weeks. Let’s just…go out for some pizza and beers and unwind.”

“We really gonna walk around town with Erin looking like a hotter version of the Crypt Keeper?”

“Thanks for that, Patty,” Erin deadpans.

“Girl, it is what it is. I can’t help it you’ve got the spook factor dialed up to nine.”

“Nah, I think we’re down to a six now,” Holtz comments, leaning in close. “I can see some blue starting to come back around your iris.”

“What? Really?” Erin pats through her pockets until she finds a small compact mirror she sometimes used on dicey busts to see around corners. Sure enough, it appeared she was starting to come back down from whatever the PKE had done to her. “Oh thank god!”

“Excellent,” Holtz beams, slipping past Erin after giving her hand a squeeze and gathering up their loose equipment. “Pizza plan is still a go!” 

Packed up and crammed into Ecto-1, Patty takes the wheel with Abby riding shotgun. Holtz and Erin sit in the back, the latter of the two scrutinizing her reflection in the small compact mirror. It takes almost half the trip back into the city, but Erin returns to a somewhat normal state, minus her hair. The white had yet to fade, meaning she’d likely have to dye it again.  

“Makes you look like a hot, punk rock chick,” Holtz muses against her shoulder, adding a wink. “I’d do you in a concert bathroom.”

“That’s disgusting, Holtz," Erin grimaces, pulling her hair back into a ponytail. "Do I even want to know if you’re joking or not?”

“Nope,” the younger woman says, popping the ‘p’ at the end.

“Gross.”

Another few minutes in traffic, the girls swing Ecto-1 into an open lot beside a nondescript brick building in an older part of town. Tourists were scarce in these parts, ensuring Saul’s remained a best-kept secret for damn good pizza and cheap beers. Thanks to a bust a few years prior that got the pizzeria back up and running again, the ‘busters had quickly become favorites of the owner. With only a half-hour before closing time, they knew they were cutting it short, but Saul was loath to run them off, oftentimes staying open just for “his favorite ‘busting gals”.

“Ladies!” an older gentleman called happily from behind a small bar. “Ain’t you a sight for sore eyes. Been too damn long since you stopped in.”

“Saul, mah pizza daddy!” Holtz beams, sliding along the bar until she bumps shoulders with the man.

“Evening, Holtz,” he snorts, cleaning his hands on a towel at his side. “And don’t call me that. Weird enough I got a girlfriend who insists on calling me that. Don’t need one of my best customers catching on and making things awkward.”

Saul can’t keep the mischievous grin from her face, one that Holtz returns tenfold.

“I guarantee I taught her how to do that before she met you,” the engineer says, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively.

“Careful there, blondie. You got a girl of your own giving you the stinkeye,” Saul chuckles, waving at Erin. “Evening Doc, and Doc, and Miss Patty.”

“Hey Saul,” Abby waves back, taking a weary seat at their regular table by the door. Patty echoes the greeting, slumping into a nearby chair, unbuttoning her jumpsuit as she does.

Saul cocks an eyebrow at te bunch. “You girls look beat. Rough bust?”

“You could say that,” Erin mumbles.

“Four beers?”

“Better make it eight,” Holtz whispers out of the corner of her mouth. “And a triple order of breadsticks.”

"One it. You know where the tap is. Fill yourself a pitcher. Same pizza order as usual?” Holtz nods, adding in a comment about getting pineapple on her slices which is shot down with a resounding ‘no!’ from the rest of the gang.

“Any chance you’ve thought about my offer to pimp out your pizza oven?” Holtz shouts at the retreating restaurant owner.

“You ain’t touching my baby with a ten-foot pole, Holtzmann!”

“So that’s a maybe then?” Saul merely gives her a single finger salute as he meanders back into the kitchen. “He’s gonna let me one of these days. Just gotta catch him in the right mood.”

“Baby, you have a better chance of winning the lotto or becoming suddenly straight,” Patty laughs, gladly accepting a cold glass of beer poured by the engineer.

Drinks doled out, Holtz takes her usual seat next to Erin, all four taking a collective moment to sip and sigh in relief, but the reprieve wasn’t long.

“Man, can’t we eat in peace without getting glared at for once?” Patty groans, prompting the other three to turn curious glances at the table behind them. Despite it being later in the evening, the restaurant wasn’t deserted. The table next to theirs was occupied, and the three men seated around it didn’t look pleased to see the city’s resident Ghostbusters.

“Nothing like running into fans,” Abby says turning away.

Saul returns a few minutes later with a triple order of his famous breadsticks and garlic sauce, which Holtz practically pounces on when placed on the table. “Pies will be out in ten,” he tells them before heading to the only other occupied table and dropping off the tab, prompting a grumble for the men.

“You kicking us out?” one of them complains. “I still got half a mug of beer left!”

“You’ve been nursing that thing for two hours. Either put your dick in it and fuck it already or swallow like a man. I got a restaurant to clean up.”

“You gonna kick them out too?” the same man grumbles, nodding at the ‘busters who studiously ignore the exchange.

“I asked you three to pay half an hour ago, and they ain’t none of your concern, Mike. Unlike you three, they eat and leave instead of dicking around here all damn evening racking up a tab they can’t pay.”

“All right, Jesus. Give us ten minutes.”

“You got five,” Saul growls before heading into the kitchen, leaving the disgruntled table to glower into their drinks and throw cutting looks at the four women trying not to eavesdrop.

“Man, fuck Saul. And them bitches, too. Why is it,” the same man who’d begun whining spits, “the city cuts funding for the rat problem but our tax dollars go to funding ghost catchers.”

“Cause we gotta make the females feel included,” another sniggers loud enough the four ‘busters hear. “Even if it means paying for a fake job. Let ‘em think they’re doing something. Keeps the femnazis quiet for once.”

That sends up a laugh from the table that grates against the women like pulverized glass in a wound. They’d put up with all manner of abuse over the years from people who still thought what they did was fake. This wasn’t anything abnormal, jut unwanted.

“You’d think people would remember Time Square and the Ether Whale,” Patty mutters, taking a long drink of her beer. “And all the shit we do around the city. Fucking hypocrites. Crying when they need help then spitting in our faces when it’s all over because they feel like we’ve stepped on their balls.”

“They’re just embarrassed they’d piss themselves if ever facing down a Class III,” Holtz shrugs, chewing on the end of a breadstick likes it's a long cigar and pretending the jabs didn’t rankle her. Another bout of laughter rises from the table, none of it friendly.

“Class II would have them pissing themselves, let’s be honest,” Abby supplies, side-eyeing the group. “Class III? They’d pass a kidney stone.” The girls share in their own laughter, but it was short lived.   

“Whatever, man. Fuck that," the first speaker leans back in his chair, scratching at his stomach. "Ain’t no bitches gonna catch no ghosts. Not with equipment that looks like a toddler put it together. And two of them don’t look like they can run up a flight of stairs without getting winded. Other two are sporty enough, but I still don’t like the idea of my tax dollar going to dykes playing dress-up thinking they’re actually doing shit for this city.”

A jolt goes through the table, four bodies going rigid.  

“Hey,” one of the men pipes up between sniggers, clearly trying to get the girls’ attention at this point. He doesn’t notice Saul making his return, pies in hand. “Hey, have you broads heard this one before? Who you gonna call? Weight Watchers, probably! Learn to eat a fucking salad for once!”

“Ignore them,” Abby warns, sensing Holtzmann’s hackles raise. “They’re just a bunch of drunk idiots spouting off.”

But it wasn’t Holtz Abby should have been watching.

“Nah, shut up, Jeremy. I’d fuck the short, fat one,” one says, making a crude motion with his hand, “and she’d thank me for it later.”

A final chorus of laughter goes up from the table, interrupted by the sudden squeal of a chair skidding across tiles. Before anyone could blink twice, Erin vaulted one-handed over their table—somehow missing Holtz and Patty in her flight—and lunged at the man closest to her. It just so happened he’d been the one to throw the last insult of the night. Using her momentum, Erin rode the man, chair and all, to the ground, landing two hard blows to his face in the process.

The restaurant exploded into action in a collective rush: Holtz, Abby, and Patty moving as fast as they could to intercept their rogue collogue before the rest of the men could react. What resulted was what could only be described as a blitz melee.

Chairs are overturned. A table’s upended. Glass breaks. Bodies hit bodies. Erin keeps swinging on the man under her, landing blows with shocking force and is only hauled off her attack when a hand grabs her by the shoulder and spins her into a fist. The concussion of flesh-on-flesh is as audible as it is jarring. Erin’s head whips to the side, cheek on fire, but if the man anticipated his blow downing the woman he's sorely mistaken.

When the physicist turns back with deliberate slowness there’s something predatory in her eyes that shone a little too brightly, her smile a little broad. Not to mention the hint of something glowing behind her teeth. It gives the man enough of a start he freezes mid-swing before buckling under the explosive impact of a chair breaking across his back. Holtz stands where he fell, the remnants of her weapon still in her hands, yellow glasses skewed.

Before Erin can comment on Holtz’s perfect timing, the engineer is thrown to the side by a chair she barely blocks with her forearm, crying out at the unexpected impact. Erin doesn’t hesitate, running at the man who'd thrown the chair—who found himself grabbed by a furious Saul—and planting both of her feet against his chest in an impressive dropkick. He’s launched bodily into the bar, limbs tangling in the stools, and doesn’t rise again.

“Jesus!” Saul gapes, mouth hanging open.

Before the physicist could take another step, Erin’s lifted bodily off her feet and slung over Patty’s shoulder fireman-style. She’s screaming as she’s carried away, throwing insults like they’re going out of style. Only once they’re beside Ecto-1 does Patty let her down, but the historian has to physically hold the smaller woman to keep her from running back into the restaurant.  

“These fucking whores jumped us!” the man Erin had first lunged at accuses when Saul bellows for everyone to stop. He’s barely able to stem the flow of blood gushing out of his broken nose. “Call the fucking cops!”

Saul’s thunderous expression turns apocalyptic, but not towards the ‘busters. Grabbing the bleeding man by the front of his shirt, the restaurant owner bodily hauls him to the front door and throws him out with a strangled squawk. Returning, Saul repeats this with the man thrown into the bar stools—the only assailant remaining on his feet quickly run out, knowing what staying behind would mean.

Unsurprisingly, Erin’s still shouting when Abby and Holtz exist the restaurant a few minutes later, reassured by Saul that they weren’t to blame and that any damages would be covered by insurance. He gives them an extra pie and order of breadsticks and sends them on their way, locking up behind them.

“Why don’t you eat a salad you pretentious dick!” Erin’s shrieking at the retreating form of the men, straining against Patty’s grip when Abby and Holtz jog up. “I’ll shove every fucking lettuce leaf down your paisley throat!”  

“Baby, calm down! Holtzy, you got a leash for this woman?”

“Abby! Abby, tell Patty to let me go! I’ll—“

“Erin!” the researcher snaps, grabbing her best friend by the shoulders and shaking her once. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“You heard what they said!” Erin points, still vibrating with rage. “They had the nerve to...to suggest—“

Erin suddenly stops her tirade when Abby wraps her in a tight hug and holds her there. “Erin, stop. Please. It’s okay, but you have to calm down.”

Taken aback by the sudden contact, Erin blinks a handful of times in surprise. Coming back to herself, she reciprocates the embrace, squeezing tight. “It’s not okay,” she whispers harshly. “Stuff like that is never okay. Ever. No one says that to my best friend.”

“Erin, honey, I’ve heard it all my life. You of all people know that. I’m fat. I know this, and I know people are going to use that against me.” Abby leans back, taking Erin’s face in her hands. “But you can’t just haul off and deck someone for throwing an insult. Not when we’re so well-known in the city.”

Erin wilts, her reckless actions catching up to her. She seems to suddenly remember something and spins with a gasp, eyes wide, but the engineer had already beat her to the punch.

“I’m doing a-okay, Er,” Holtz waves with her good arm. The other might be broken…or fracture…or both. It hurt. “Just…might need to wrap this in ice tonight.” Erin gently takes her girlfriend’s arm and rolls up the sleeve, not surprised to find the skin already starting to blacken with bruising. The engineer fights back a wince, hissing through her teeth. “Yeah, that’s…gonna be a problem later on.”

“Oh my god, Holtz, I’m so, _so_ _sorry_!”

“Had worse in the past, babydoll. And hell, your knuckles don’t look any better.”

Looking down, Erin notices for the first time her own bruising knuckles and flexes her fingers, feeling the ache setting in. “Oh wow. Damn.”

“Yeah, those are gonna be screaming come morning, so let’s get home. I’m starving. Those pies smell damn good. On the way, you can enlighten me as to where you learned how to dropkick someone like that, cause _ma-damn_ that was _fine_.”

Erin can’t help feel a little burst of pride work through her that she smothers under a shy smile. The four once again climb into Ecto-1, Patty driving and muttering about crazy white girls and their tempers. Unable to resist the smell of good pizza, Holtz divvies out slices to be eaten along the way, none of the girls noticing how Erin’s fingers drift over her bruised knuckles or the proud half-smile she thinks she hides while looking out the window. Patty notices, watching from the rearview mirror. Patty notices a lot the others don’t seem to see, but she keeps this observation to herself, unsure what to make of the changes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, at least we know Erin's not possessed! And we know she's got a mean dropkick, hot damn! So what did you all think?
> 
> Reviews literally help me write faster and let me know what you all think. Please and thank you, as always =)


	11. Spit and Ultimatums

Erin woke with a start and a heavy snort, not remembering falling asleep or even getting back to her bed. She was in her bed, right? A quick, squinted look around confirmed that this was, indeed, her room she shared with Holtzmann, and that it was, indeed, early morning.

Rolling over with a groan, Erin tried to keep her brain from kicking into gear—it had a tendency to do that whenever she work up prematurely—desperately wanting a few more minutes of lazy, Sunday morning peace. It was the only day out of the week the ‘busters were “unofficially” closed, unless it was an emergency. Abby and Patty returned to their own apartments, leaving Erin and Holtz to “guard the fort”, which the physicist didn’t mind. Rare were the days she actually got uninterrupted time alone with her girlfriend. Sundays were treasured.

Speaking of girlfriend, Erin lifted her head from her pillow—hair a bird's nest—and frowned when her wandering fingers met the open space Holtz usually occupied. _Strange,_ the brunette thought, twisting around so she could see the alarm clock on the nightstand beside her. It was nine in the morning. Three hours later than Erin usually rose, but far too early for Holtzmann to be awake. The blonde could sleep well past noon, if the physicist let her.

Begrudgingly, Erin dragged her tired body out of bed, wincing when her aches made themselves known. That was becoming a regular occurrence, and she had to wonder if her age was finally catching up to her. Forty was the new fifty, so all the hip, trendy magazines claimed, or some similar nonsensical bullshit. Her right hip throbbed unpleasantly under the Batman boxers she’d apparently pilfered from Holtzmann the night before, the skin warm and tender. No use trying to deduce why _that_ part of her body was sore. The same went for her right hand.

Lifting the appendage into the sunlight streaming through partially open blinds, Erin studied the black and blue bruising painting her knuckles like livid mountain peaks. It hurt to flex her fingers. It hurt to make a fist. It just plain _hurt_ , but there was something strangely _right_ about the pain. Strangely welcome. Like she’d earned a badge of honor for doing a job well done, which was shutting up a misogynistic, cringe-worthy asshole through force. If only she’d broken the motherfucker’s neck along with his ja…

Erin drew back suddenly, cutting off the train of through before it could solidify. Standing like she’d been shocked, the brunette quickly moved away from the bed, giving the mattress and crumpled sheets a wary look like they’d been the cause of the sudden burst of willful darkness. Where had that come from? Chewing her bottom lip, Erin decided it might be better to go ahead and start her day.

Tugging on an oversized space themed t-shirt, she set her course for the kitchen and the coffee that would no doubt clear her head. Halfway down the stairs, Erin jumped at the sudden shriek from the bathroom and almost fell over herself sprinting back up the stairs and down the hall. She’d not even heard the shower going, but the cry had come from the second-floor bathroom.

“Holtz!?” she called through the door, slapping the wood three times. “Are you okay?”

“Jesus and the holy family! Oh god, it hurts!”

“Holtzmann!” Erin used her shoulder to throw open the door, dreading what she’d find. The engineer stood with her face turned into the water stream, the heels of her palms pressed firmly into her eyes. There wasn’t any blood. There wasn’t any sign of a struggle or a poof. Just Holtzmann standing in the water rubbing at her face.

“I didn’t catch it in time!” she shouts, having heard Erin’s sudden entrance.

“What?” the physicist sputters, feeling like Wiley Coyote realizing he’d just run off a cliff with no way back.

“The soap slid into my eye like straight boy sliding up behind me at a party!” Holtz whines, rubbing furiously at her left eye. “It burns like his promise of a good time! But we all know it’s a llliiieeee!”  

“Oh my god,” Erin exhales, putting her face into her hands. “I thought you’d hurt yourself!”

“This counts as an injury!” Holtz counters, blinking furiously to remove the filmy, stinging residue from under her eyelid. “I’d take a chemical burn over soap in the eye any day.”

“You’re insane, I hope you know that.”

“Take that as a compliment.”

Crisis averted, Erin allows herself to relax a little in the doorway, leaning against the frame. “What are you doing up so early?”

“Brain woke me up,” Holtz says, tapping the side of her head as she turns to face her partner. “Needed to sketch something and then decided there wasn’t any point going back to sleep. Then I started working on modifying your shotgun. There was a spill. Might be a small hole in the floor. Needed to soak just in case. Plus…I think it’s been three days since my last shower.”

“Three days?”

“That’s what you took away from that?” the blonde laughs, peeking around the sliding glass door. “My hygiene? Not the hole in the floor?”

“One of those things I deal with directly on a daily basis!”

“Says the woman who frequently rocks my world,” the engineer winks over her shoulder, throwing Erin a predatory grin. The physicist returns it with a flat look of her own, which she was proud of. It had taken years for Erin to fight the raging flush that commonly lit her cheeks whenever Holtzmann looked at her like that. The woman was gorgeous, and the added element of nudity plus running water only added to the alluring seduction that Holtz seemed capable of turn on and off with a flip of a smile.

“I’m going to make a shower quota from now on,” Erin says matter-of-factly. “No sleeping in my bed unless you’ve showered within the past two days. No sex unless you showered that day.”

“Again,” Holtz snorts, leaning casually against the tiles, arms crossed and blue eyes sizzling across the snort distance separating them, “says the woman who loves to peal me out of my jumpsuit after a bust. I thought you said you liked the taste of sweat and sin on my—“

“All right! Shut up, I get your point,” Erin interrupted, hating she was forced to look away but curling her lips all the same. In her periphery, she sees Holtz make a checkmark in the air, signaling victory.

“Since we’re both filthy people—some of us in mind more than body—you wanna bypass first base and jump in? Water’s warm.”

Erin skeptically regarded her partner for a handful of seconds. The offer was enticing. No doubt the warmth would help ease the ache of her bruised hip, among other things.

“I’ll even loofa your back,” Holtz offers with an eyebrow wiggle—stretching out the last word.

"God, you drive a hard bargain." Erin slips off her boxers and top and makes her way into the shin-high tub only to freeze halfway when she notices Holtzmann’s left arm for the first time. Shower and the soothing relief it would provide forgotten, Erin gently takes the engineer’s arm, turning it gently so she could inspect it more closely.

“Yeah, I woke to it looking like that. Don’t think it’s broken,” Holtz admits with a shrug that fails to lighten the suddenly heavy atmosphere. She watches something dark flicker across Erin’s face, her blue eyes growing lighter under the fluorescent lights. When Erin doesn’t reciprocate Holtz’s nonchalance—growing visibly tense like a coil under pressure—the engineer uses two fingers to gently lift her partner’s head. “Hey, I’m all right, Erin. I promise.”

“You got hurt.” It’s barely a whisper, but it crackles through the white noise of the shower like a rumble of thunder.

“Not the first time, hot stuff,” Holtz says with a lopsided smile. She eases her arm out of Erin’s grip and repositions the two until the brunette is under the shower head, water beating down and plastering her hair to her face. “Not the last time either. Just a bruise. Maybe a fracture. No biggie.”

“No biggie?” Erin parrots back, slicking her hair back but not moving to continue any cleaning rituals. “Some asshole threw a chair at you and maybe broke your arm, and that’s a ‘no biggie’?”

“Erin,” Holtz husks a laugh, taking the taller woman by the hips and drawing her forward until their stomachs nearly touch. “Love of my life, Hadron to my collider, it’s okay. You think that was the first time I ever caught a chair like that? Baby, _come on_ , this is _me_ we’re talking about! Evel Knievel ain’t got nothing on this girl.”

“But—“

“You do have a fine ass, yes, but no buts here. A little ice, maybe some sweet TLC from you, and I’m gonna be right as rain. I’m also not the only one who walked away with bruises,” Holtzmann said quietly, taking Erin’s right hand and running her fingers gently over the livid discoloration. Lowering her head, the blonde leaves a trail of gentle kisses atop each knuckle.

“Holtz—“

“I’m used to pain, Erin. I’m used to the ache and the sting. This isn’t anything significant. A fracture at most, and there’s nothing a doctor could do other than put me in a cast, and we all know how well that usually works out.”

Erin stifled a bemused sigh. Casts on Holtzmann’s body never lasted long. She’d either pick them apart within a week or manually cut it off, claiming the restriction and pressure against her skin made her feel unbalanced. Soft casts or temporary splints were as far as the woman would go.

Discussing injuries draws Erin’s gaze over the scars scattered across Holtzmann’s body. After five years, she had familiarized herself with almost all of them, being present for the creation of quite a few. She knew their texture like a blind man knew the braille of a familiar book, letting the physical roadmap guide her like a GPS through Holtzmann’s past failures and successes. A bust gone wrong here. A welding scar from arc spatter there. Misjudged landing. Angry ghost. Dumpster diving. Chemical burns. Nicks and silvery scars by the dozen. Really, what was one more possible break to this woman?

“You should still get it x-rayed,” Erin mutters, attempting to hold onto what she felt was righteous anger, but the press of Holtz’s body against hers and the smile on the smaller woman’s lips was making it hard to feel anything but warm.

“Hospitals are for dudes.”

And with that, Erin knew she’d lost any chance of an argument. Sighing, she dropped her head and nestled her face in the crook of Holtzmann’s shower-warmed neck. “They made me so angry saying what they said.”

Holtz didn’t respond. Simply rubs her partner’s back and lets her talk.

“I hate feeling powerless against people like that. I hate how they get away with saying shit like that to women on a daily basis.”

“But you shut them up,” the engineer says, drawing back a little. “Paid the price, but you proved your point. Maybe not in the smoothest way possible, but you can bet your sweet ass they won’t repeat that mistake again. Not for a while at least. Now, give me a one-eighty so I can work my magic on those coils you call shoulder blades.”

Erin couldn’t help but smile, anger nearly forgotten. Or at the very least quelled. True to her word, Holtz wielded the loofa with practiced ease that leaves Erin’s tense body loosening some. The addition of the smaller woman’s thumbs attacking hidden knots under the physicist’s shoulder blades almost has her in a puddle on the floor.

They finish up and towel off, both pleasantly warm and relaxed. Breakfast was the next item on the day’s list, something Erin usually prepared while Holtz made coffee. A master chef the physicist was not, but she knew her way around a mean cheesy scrambled egg recipe. It was her and Holtzmann’s Sunday treat they squirreled away to their room where they could eat in bed together and watch Netflix or just lounge.

Today, Erin had one of her notebooks out, scratching down equations between bites and reworking number columns while Holtz watched the reboot of Samurai Jack, shoveling eggs into her mouth without looking or even properly aiming. Erin couldn’t help but smile as she watched her partner in her periphery. They were an odd couple, to be sure, but somehow they made it work.

“I thought there’s no working on Sundays,” Holtzmann teased during an episode break. “Or are you making Sudoku sheets again?”

“That’s your rule,” Erin quips without looking up, adding smugly, “And no one would be able to solve my Sudoku sheets.”

“I don’t function under the oppression of rules,” the engineer grins manically as she bites off the corner of a piece of toast.

 “You just keep believing that, sweetheart.”

 A pout draws the blonde’s lower lip out. “That’s yours and Abby’s rule about Sundays. No working or building. It’s a day of ‘rest’,” Holtz makes air quotations, “which isn’t a word I’m familiar with. You know Spanish better than me. What’s ‘rest’ mean?”

“Would it make you feel better if you went into your lab and built something?”

“No, I just like being obnoxious when you’re working,” the blonde grins again, to which Erin rolls her eyes. “So what’ca working on?”

“Something that’s been dogging me for a while…” Erin stares at a few sets of numbers for a moment more before setting aside her notebook and turning her attention into her partner. It wasn’t hard for Holtz to tell that she was nervous and had something on her mind. “I wanted to talk to you about something.”

The sudden panic Erin sees flash across the young woman’s face has her raising her hands in a gesture of peace. “Nothing like that! Sorry, that probably came out way more serious than it needed to be. Let me try again. I need to ask you something, but I’m a little worried about your answer.”

Shifting uncomfortably, Holtz scratches at the back of her head. Closing her laptop, her attention turns to Erin fully. “Okay. Shoot.”

Erin readjusts her sitting position so one leg was folded under the other. She was quite for a moment, taking the opportunity to organize her thoughts, fingers drumming the top of her notebook. “It has to do with our recent research or lack thereof. I—I want to continue researching PKE.”

“Okay,” Holtzmann replied, stretching out the word. “I kinda figured that was the case already. We’re already studying it. Have been for about a month now.”

“Let me rephrase. I want to keep researching PKE, but I feel like it needs to be a private matter.”

That certainly brought Holtz’s eyebrows up. “Not following, hot rod. I know you and Abby don’t want to publish your findings, but that’s not what you’re talking about is it?”

“Not exactly, no.” Erin exhaled sharply through her nose, trying to figure out how to say this. She might as well throw decorum out the damn window at this point, but she had to carefully gauge what she said. “You’re right. Abby and I—well, more Abby than me—are reluctant to publish any findings, but that’s not the root of the issue. Only one of the branches. I…feel like Abby’s reluctance to fully invest in PKE research is hindering us somehow. I understand her reservations, but I’m a scientist. We’re all scientist, save for Patty, and we should be breaking our necks cracking the mystery surrounding this stuff, but even before the banshee, Abby’s been apprehensive. I think—I believe there’s something to it we’re missing, but I feel that any research we actually do in the future will be minimal at best, and I don’t want that. I want to fully invest in this stuff.”

“Without judgment or without restriction?” Holtz asked, the playfulness gone from her face and replaced with a rare serious undertone. It was unnerving how quickly the engineer could switch between emotions.

“A bit of both?” Erin shrugged honestly, spreading her hands in an effort to keep the conversation light. She sees her efforts aren’t entirely working—Holtz’s skepticism seeps through in the tilt of her head—and amends. “But I don’t want this to be a secret kept from the others. Never that.”

“Then what do you want?”

“I want this to be a collaborative effort between you and me. Out of everyone, and I can’t believe I’m saying this, you seem to be the most level headed and willing to experiment. You made the ecto-mitts. You helped with the early research.”

A prolonged beat of silence stretched between the two while Holtzmann mulled over the answer Erin was fishing for.

“Researching this in private _is_ keeping it a secret.” Holtzmann eventually said down at her crossed feet.

“I’m asking you to work with me, Holtz. That’s all.”

“No, _you’re asking me to lie_.” She surprised the physicist by abruptly sliding off her end of the bed and putting a few strides of distance between them. Back to her partner, Holtz hunched, rubbing the back of her neck. “I’m not…comfortable with lying, Erin. Abby is still one of my closest friends. She was the only person to trust me back and Higgins. I basically own her for my career. I don’t want to jeopardize what we have by keeping secrets. By lying. That’s how families die.” She added the last comment quietly enough she almost believes Erin didn’t hear. Almost.

“Holtz, no, I’m sorry,” Erin jumped up, feeling a spike of cold dread work into her blood. She knew, _she knew,_ how loyal a person her girlfriend was and knew better than to test the waters.

“I wasn’t thinking,” Erin continued, stepping up behind her partner and wrapping her arms around her shoulders, pressing her forehead against the back of Holtz’s head. “I didn’t mean to say you’d be lying to Abby. That’s not what I meant.”

“But you implied it,” the engineer said quietly, not moving to reciprocate Erin’s embrace.

“I know, and I’m sorry.” Erin winces and moves around in front of the blonde, ducking low in hopes of capturing her gaze. When Holtz finally flicks her eyes up to meet Erin’s blue ones, the physicist gives her an apologetic smile. “Forget I said anything, okay? It was stupid of me and not fair to you. I didn’t mean to put you on the spot like that.”

Holtzmann sighed and let her head drop back until she was staring at the ceiling. She waffles a bit, fingers coming up to toy with her screw-u necklace as her mind danced through probabilities at lightspeed. “I…want to research PKE too, but this needs to be a collaborative effort. Even if Abby’s apprehensive, we need to be straight with her.” A goofy smile ghosts across the woman’s lips. “Even if there’s nothing straight about any of us.”

Erin snorted and pushed her girlfriend, earning her a chuckle from the engineer before they both sober. “She’s not going to go for it. After yesterday? Abby’s pretty much done with PKE.”

It’s Holtz’s turn to snort. “You don’t know that.” 

“You’re forgetting who was best friends with Abby first. I know when she’s ready to call it quits and when she’s not. And after what happened at the mansion…”

“Call a meeting then.”

Erin actually rocks back at the suggestion, mildly appalled. “What? Now?”

“Why not?”

“And earn the ire of the other half of our four-woman team? It’s Sunday!”

“Don’t care,” the blondes crosses her arms, a familiar stubbornness setting her shoulders. “This is important to you. This is also important to us because it has to do with our research as a whole. I take it you’ve got info in that little notebook that will sway the masses?”

Erin’s eyes flick back to the black and white notebook. “Possibly.”

Holtzmann nods sagely and walks back to the nightstand, plucking up her phone from its charging port and handing it over with a flourish. “My lady, your trumpet. Call the queens to court.”

“This can wait until tomorrow.”

“Aren’t you always tell me ‘don’t put off tomorrow what can be done today’?”

Erin narrows her eyes. “I hate when you use my logic against me.”

“Love is a two-way street, babyboll,” Holtz winks. “And I’m a fast learner cruising along in a hot rod. Make the call.”

Groaning—because she really, _really_ didn’t want to do this but saw Holtzmann’s logic—Erin bypassed physically calling her colleagues in lieu of sending a mass text. Because Sundays were on-call days the ‘busters had a code _Answer the Call_ followed by a brief description of the emergency bust. Erin merely neglected to mention any bust.

Ten minutes later, a red-faced, puffing Abby shoves into the firehouse looking more than a little perturbed in her puffy coat and scarf. Her confusion takes a turn towards what Erin would call “highly irritable”—Holtzmann just called it pissed—when it was revealed there was no bust.

“You called us here…on a Sunday…to have a meeting?” Abby scowls at Erin from her place at the kitchen table. As a self-proclaimed workaholic, the researcher was more than willing to come in on her days off, but with the events of the last few weeks hanging heavy over all their heads, a reprieve from the drama was sorely needed.

Erin shifts like a grade schooler in front of an irate principle. Beside her sits a lazy looking Holtz who hadn’t changed out of her sleeper t-shirt and brightly colored sweatpants. The engineer gives Erin a reassuring smile, silently urging her to proceed.

“I know, and I’m sorry, but this couldn’t wait.”

“Really?” Patty rumbles, the last of the group to arrive despite living the closest and the last to take her seat at the table. “Cause I’m pretty sure we have normal business hours were we can discuss work related shit rather than coming in on the only day we unofficially have off. I’ve got a hair appointment I’m not gonna miss, so let’s keep this brief, m’kay?”

“Seconded,” Abby agrees.

“Boo, when was the last time you had a hair appointment?” Patty snorts, rolling her eyes.

“I let Holtzmann cut my hair,” Abby answers, which earns her a disbelieving look from Patty.

“Oh hell no. That ain’t right.”

“I do a good job!” Holtz pouts, folding her arms against the table and resting her head atop them. “Drawing and cutting lines is about the only straight thing I can accomplish, so I take great pride in it. So if you’re ever looking for a—“

“Abso-fucking-lutely not,” Patty says, stopping Holtz with a raised finger. “You ain’t touching my hair. Hu-uh. Nada. Nope. End of discussion.”

Holtz grins widely and makes a scissor gesture with her hands in Patty’s direction which the historian slaps away.

“Okay, so,” Erin says, drawing everyone back in, sitting up a little straighter and channeling her inner professor. Her hands shake a bit. She hoped no one noticed. “To get things started, I feel something needs to be said.” One breath in. One breath out. “You all were right. Specifically, Abby was right. And there’s…uh…some things we need to get out into the open to clear the air, so to speak.”

Silence greets the announcement, two sets of eyes watching with varying degrees of confusion and one simply watching for content.

“Okay. I’ll bite, but you wanna roll back a bit and elaborate on what exactly I was right about?” Abby prompts, scratching at her forehead.

Erin chewed her words, trying to find the ones that would serve her best. Unconsciously, the thumb of her right hand skips across the pads of her fingers in an echo of the path her coin usually took across her knuckles.

“About PKE. You were right about how we’ve been using it. How _I’ve_ been using it. I’ve been thinking a lot about these last few weeks, and it all kind of came to a head after what happened Friday. I realize we’ve—I’ve,” Erin amends, lowering her gaze to the table. “I’ve not been very scientific with my approach in understanding what this substance is. I’ve been too cavalier, and I’m sorry.”

The physicist looks up, locking stares with Abby. “I’m also sorry for how I’ve been acting. How I handled the banshee aftermath and not being sensitive to your needs and concerns. It wasn’t fair to you. I put my work above my best friend, and I’m sorry.”

Clearly taken aback, Abby goes through a series of facial journeys until she finally blows out a long breath. “I accept your apology. I think it’s safe to say, we all got a little carried away, but I know you, Erin. That’s not the sole reason you called us all here on a Sunday. What else is going on?”

“You’re right,” the physicist says, pressing her mouth in a thin line and worrying her fingers.

“You’re killing me here, Gilbert,” Patty sighed. “Come on, girl. I ain’t into edging. Just lay it on us.”

Erin studiously ignores Holtzmann’s snigger and the sharp look Patty gives the smaller woman, having eyes only for Abby right now. “I want to continue my research into fully understanding PKE.”

Abby’s arms go up in an exasperated gesture. “I fucking new it. Even after all that’s happened?”

“Yes,” Erin nods, threading her fingers together and placing them on the table in front of her. “I still firmly believe we are on the cusp of a breakthrough that would rock the world of science and paranormal research.”

“We don’t even know what it is!”

“Yes, we do.”

Abby stops mid-inhale, eyes narrowing. Erin doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t have to. Everyone present can see the wheels turning in Abby’s mind. “We don’t…” she hedges carefully.

“We do,” Erin repeats as she pulls a notebook seemingly out of nowhere and slides it open over to Abby. “At least, we do now. I’ve been juggling the numbers since the warehouse incident. All my notes and calculations, all the evidence we have, points towards PKE being a bridge element. _It’s a bridge between energies, Abby_.”

Abby and Holtzmann’s eyes go wide, neither aware Erin had been working calculations like these. They both tear into the notebook, running over the numbers and reading the cramped but neat lines of text.

“That’s not possible,” Abby breathes, eyes not leaving the page. “Something like that can’t exist. It breaks the laws of physics.”

“Care to translate that into normal person English,” Patty grumps, making a face.

“The easiest way of putting it is that energy equals the ability to do work, and it comes in many forms, most of which you know,” Erin explains, feeling the familiar flush of excitement she always got when lecturing. Ghostbuster or not, Erin still harbored a deep love for teaching. “Food energy, solar energy, wind energy. Those are the basics. Getting into the nitty-gritty, there’s potential energy and kinetic energy, chemical, gravitational, electrical, thermal, motion, _nuclear_ …” she added the last one with a smile in Holtz’s direction.

“Okay, I get that. I learned about most of this way back in high school,” Patty nods along, appreciative of the refresher but wanting to get to the meat of the issue.

“Well, the problem with energy is that, no matter how much we try to avoid it, it’s never really used or captured at one hundred percent.”

“Now you’ve lost me.”

Erin smiles, unperturbed. “The greatest cause of energy loss is friction and heat. In a nutshell, it’s why a ball rolling across a floor will eventually stop. Friction pulls against the kinetic energy, creating some heat and a gradual slowing back into potential energy when the ball stops.”

“Okay, that makes sense.”

“Right, so, it would be pretty remarkable if we created or discovered an element that made it possible for energy of any kind to be used to its fullest extent. Think of it like putting a coating of Teflon on the ball. Friction would never stop its trajectory. The ball would be moving with pure kinetic energy. Now imagine that used for something like solar power or nuclear energy.”

“Power sources would become unlimited…” Abby pushes away from the table, eyes wide. She can’t stop her hands from shaking. “Erin…i-is this—“

“I don’t know yet,” the physicist jumps in, sensing a break in Abby’s armor. “All my calculations and the hypotheses are pointing in that direction. PKE is a bridge element capable Tefloning energy, which makes absolute sense. Paranormal entities would need a sort of lubrication in order for them to cross over interdimensional planes. Ghosts could be considered potential energy until they cross over, then becoming kinetic energy. It would explain why cold spots are the most common sign of paranormal manifestations. And why ectoplasm exists. It’s a byproduct of PKE used as an energy lubricant. Since heat is the product of energy loss—”

“Cold is the byproduct of PKE manifesting in our world,” Abby finishes almost breathlessly. She puts her hands against her temples as if the knowledge and fresh possibilities buzzing around in her brain would blow out the sides of her skull. “Holy fucking shit, Erin, this is huge.”

“I know,” the physicist nods enthusiastically, incapable of holding back a wide grin. “Which is why I want to continue researching it.”

“But at what cost to you? If this…if any of this is true. If your numbers are correct—and I don’t doubt they are, I’m just saying—we have no idea what this substance could do to a human. We shouldn’t even be handling it with ecto-mitts. We should be in full hazmat suits.”

“Just say the word and I’ve got yah covered,” Holtz pipes up with a helpful grin.

“As far as we can tell, PKE isn’t harmful to humans. By rights…we shouldn’t even be able to handle it…” Erin leaves the sentence open, knowing Abby would catch on.

“But?” the researcher broaches suspiciously.

“But you and I can.” Erin stares across the table at Abby, the blue of her eyes particularly bright in the light of the overhead lamp. “Why? Why only us? Why not Holtz or Patty?”

“Dude, I’ve been wondering the same damn thing,” Patty leans in, devouring every word. Beside Erin, Holtz watches with all the severity of a hawk, still for the first time that day.

“You know don’t you?” Abby’s expression turns from one to awestruck wonder to something more akin to nervous apprehension. Erin’s slow nod brings her back into her chair. “Why?”

“The portal Rowan pulled you into.”

Abby’s hand makes a path from her mouth to the back of her head, eyes growing distant. She doesn’t speak for a long time, prompting Erin to lay her final cards on the table.

“Two living beings crossed into an interdimensional rift. That’s the best explanation I can come up with. We were subjected to massive amounts of psychokinetic energy while in there and it…did something to us.” Erin raises her hands as if her flesh alone could unravel the secrets now woven into her DNA.

“Our very own Gama irradiated superheroes,” Holtz whispers with almost childlike wonder. Patty can only stare slightly openmouthed.

“Kind of like that, yeah,” Erin nods, sparing a tight smile. “I’m not a medical scientist. That’s way beyond my field of expertise, but I’d be willing to bet something about our DNA was changed in the portal. It would explain our white hair when we came out. It would explain why we can touch objects belonging to dead people. It would explain a lot, actually.”

As thrilling as this revelation was for Erin, Abby looked like she was about to become physically sick. When she rose from the table Erin did too only to sit back down when Abby waved her away. The researcher plucked her coat from the back of the chair and headed straight for the back door, exiting into the alley without a word.

Deflating after the door slammed shut, Erin put her face in her hands, groaning. That hadn’t gone exactly as she’d planned. She jumps when Holtz grips her shoulder and plants a gentle kiss behind her ear.

“I’ll go talk to her. Sit tight, my little irradiated hulkling.”

“Damn,” Patty manages after a moment. Then whoops loudly and smacks the table. “ _Damn!_ That’s some cool-ass shit! Creepy as hell, but damn cool. Who said you need a radioactive spider to get superpowers. Peter Parker ain’t got shit on the two of you.”

Erin laughs but can’t get the tension to leave her back and shoulders. Everything from here on out—all the research, if any, that would come after this point—wavered on a knife’s edge. If Erin couldn’t get Abby on board…

When it became apparent Abby wasn’t coming back in anytime soon, Patty and Erin retired to the third floor where the girls set up a sort of lounge area. Since Erin and Holtz claimed the second floor, the third was outfitted with two rooms for Abby and Patty’s overnight stays, a tiny kitchenette, and a TV room. The two busters got comfortable on the couch and were half way through an episode of Hell’s Kitchen—one of Patty’s favorite shows on account she swore up and down she could cook as good as Gordon Ramsey, which she could—when the sound of feet on the stairs had Erin muting the TV. A second later Abby shuffled into view with Holtzmann at her elbow. Erin got up and moved to an armchair across the room, giving Holtz and Abby her seat.     

“So umm…yeah,” Abby made a helpless gesture, clearly unsure where to begin.

“Yeah,” Erin parroted back, trying not to pick at her thumb cuticle.

“That was a lot to take in. I mean…it’s not every day you’re told you’re not entirely human anymore.” There wasn’t any joy to Abby’s words, merely resignation, and that stung a bit for Erin.

“We’re still human. Just…different.”

The researcher snorted, disbelieving and unwilling to remain on the topic. “I wanted to say a few things before we continued from here. I know you’re chomping at the bit to continue researching PKE. I can see it in your eyes, and I’d be lying if I said I was comfortable with going forward with any more research.”

“But, Abby we—“

“I wasn’t done,” Abby interrupted, silencing Erin with a look. “I don’t want to research it. I don’t want anything to do with it, and I’d feel better if it never entered the firehouse again, _but_ I understand the groundbreaking importance. If it is what you say it is, we’ve discovered the holy grail of energy research. This is life changing shit, Erin. This could easily turn the clean energy crisis on its head. We’re talking huge motherfucking big deal, and I don’t want something like that to slip out of our fingers. I don’t want to be the reason we lose an opportunity to not only cement ourselves in history but also doing a greater service to the world over. That’s why…I’ve decided that, yes, I will allow you to continue your research, _but I have conditions,_ ” the researcher stressed before excitement could light up Erin’s face.

“Name them,” the physicist said almost too quickly, leaning forward.

“First, PKE will never again be used on a bust. Ever. If we have to collect a sample, we use the ecto-mitts. That means no more ionizing outside the firehouse, which brings me to my second condition.

“PKE will not be used off this property, and when it’s being used, you will be monitored. Someone else will be with you during experiments. I don’t want you doing this alone, Erin, for obvious reasons. I don’t know what happened at the mansion, but I don’t want a repeat performance, got it?

“Third. We do not speak about this to anyone. No media. No mayor. No Gorin,” Abby shot a look at Holtz. “No one. This stays between the four of us, and in the even we come to a point where we can write up a publication, we’re going to be damn careful about what we say because if words gets out you and I aren’t exactly human anymore? Yeah, I’m not going to be someone’s lab rat, and neither are you. So this goes for all of us. No one outside this family will know.

“If any of these conditions are not met, I _will_ terminate the research immediately. I mean it, Erin. We’re playing with fire here. Worse than fire. This is splitting the atom with a butter knife in our birthday suits. This is human experimentation, and I don’t like it. I don’t want this house of cards we’ve built to come crashing down because we weren’t professional about all this.”

Staring down at her feet, Erin listens to Abby’s ultimatum, taking in every word. It was fair. Every worry and condition, every rule. All of it. She couldn’t begrudge her best friend for being thorough. She couldn’t begrudge Abby anything, so when she lifts her head, lower lip sucked in and teeth pressing into it, all Erin can do is nod.

“That’s not good enough,” Abby frowns, stepping closer. Sucking in, she makes a ghastly noise as she draws up a wad of mucous from the back of her throat and spits into her palm. Erin visibly recoils, disgusted. “Oh no, you either shake on my terms or we don’t have a deal.”

“That’s so nasty!”

“Shake on it.”

“We’re not teenagers anymore!”

“Shake. On. It. Or no deal.”

Stuck between a rock and a hard place, Erin extends her hand—trying not a gag—only for Abby to pull it away, eyebrow cocked.

“Spit too.”

Groaning loudly, Erin does her best to spit into her palm—which was reminiscent of Mulan in the Disney movie trying to spit—and quickly takes Abby’s hand in hers, shaking hard three times.

“We have a deal.”

“Wonderful,” Erin grimaces, trying to work her gag reflexes back down. It reminded her of slime…oh god…oh god, that was so nasty. “Excuse me while I go scrape my skin off.”

Abby rolls her eyes, wiping her hand on her jeans before joining Holtz and Patty on the couch. Erin rejoins them a few seconds later, squeezing in for the rest of Hell’s Kitchen, mind already working through scenario soon to come.     

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I give you fluff and answers! Finally, all the research I've actually been doing into PKE has finally come out in this fic. I'm not even joking you all, I actually went into some serious threads of research trying to work out what PKE is...and let me tell you the freaky thing...theoretically it's all completely plausible. I actually gave myself chills when me and my editors were brainstorming. Holy shit. 
> 
> So please let me know what you think! Seriously, I love hearing from you all. Debate with me. Nerd out. Flail and gush or rant, what have you. Reviews always help scoot me along at a much faster clip.


	12. Hidden Tape #1

A camera flicks to life with an electronic whine, the mechanical eye focusing with a series of tight zoom-ins and outs. The room it attempts to focus on is bright, white walls harshly reflecting the fluorescents above. The hazy outline of a person slips into view from the right, face lost to fuzzy distortion as fingers dial a setting atop the camera before stepping back. It takes the video recorder a half-second to lock onto the movement and finally focus on the tall brunette standing in the middle of a white room.       

“Good evening,” the woman greets the camera, nodding. Hands folded in front of her, she looked like the picture of academic poise flavored with the slightest hint of nerves. She wears an MIT sweater partially unzipped down her front and jeans. “My name is Doctor Erin Gilbert. Today’s date is October twenty-second. The time is,” Erin throws a quick glance at her left wrist, “two AM, Eastern Standard Time. This marks the beginning of a series of solo tests I will be performing following my research into Psychokinetic energy, or PKE as it has been tagged by myself and my collogues, through the use of ectoplasmic objects.”

Erin drops her gaze for a moment, her ponytail brushing the back of her ears. There’s an intake of breath barely caught by the camera’s audio.

“There will come a point where you three will watch this, and I want you to know I mean no disrespect towards any of you. I made a promise, I know, but sometimes things need to be handled on their own. So I’ll start with an apology.” Erin looks up, staring at the bionic lens dead center and into the eyes of the view who would come much later. “I’m sorry. I hope these tests yield what I’m looking for, and I hope you can forgive me. But until then, I have work to do.”

Erin walks out of frame only to return dragging a stool in one hand and holding a small canister in the other. She sets the canister on the stool and opens it, the lid softly hissing as it slid aside. With a handheld remote, the camera’s eye zooms in so only Erin’s upper body is visible. Between her fingers, she holds her ecto-coin.

“Tonight, I will be performing a series of tests with the ecto-object you see before you,” Erin says, speaking as if she were speaking to a larger audience. “It was discovered earlier this year that, due to an event beyond my control, I gained the ability to handle ectoplasmic matter. The how and why will come later. For now, let us focus on this object.”

Controlled again with a remote, the camera zooms back out revealing more of the room than it had when it was first activated. A stack of boxes topped with an empty ten-gallon jug sits against the far left wall. A series of red rings had been inked in with sharpie. Erin remains in the center of the room.

“The study of ecto-objects is still in its infancy. Ectoplasmic science is a novice study, even by our standards,” she says, launching into a quick, abbreviated version of the information she gave Abby earlier that day. Unconsciously, the coin in Erin’s hand begins to skip across her knuckles as she explains her theories and hypotheses. Halfway through, the physicist begins to pace, her speech speeding up.

“A noted side-effect PKE seems to have when coming into contact with living matter is what my colleagues and I have coined as ‘ionization’.” Erin gestures at her body with an expression that said ‘I know you can clearly tell there’s something off about me’. “At this very moment, I am ionizing while holding this object. The effects are…startling,” she giggles the word before sobering, “to say the least. Symptoms of skin-to-ecto contact include an increase in the body’s energy output, more than likely caused by PKE reducing the energy loss taking place during my body’s natural cycles. Later tests will be done to show whether or not this causes lasting effects.

“Other symptoms include increased hearing and sight, lingering feelings of euphoria, olfactory hallucinations indicated by a sudden and powerful scent of menthol, and possible appearance-altering changes. I experienced a physical change to my appearance when last handling PKE and will attempt to replicate those events at a later date.”

Palming the ecto-coin, Erin motions to the far end of the room where the boxes and jug sat. “The most important issue at hand is understanding what these ecto-objects are capable of doing. In our field of research and expertise, this could prove invaluable once control is established. Ectoplasm is an unstable compound incapable of sustaining molecular stability in physical reality for long periods of time, a fact that is steadily being disproven, but I digress.

“Tonight I will be demonstrating the capabilities of an ecto-object wielded in the physical plane of reality. I would like the viewer to note that I am currently experiencing a mild ionization. This will occur each time I come in contact with one of the many ecto-objects my team and I have gathered.”

Erin takes her place closer to the right side of the room within a direct line of sight of the water jug. She blows out a breath like a pitcher before a baseball game.

“This is ecto-coin propulsion, attempt one.”

Cocking her arm back, Erin chucks the coin at the jug much like she had back with the banshee and misses, the translucent blue object bouncing off the wall with an audible thunk. It was her belief she could replicate what her coin had done to the entity in reverse, effectively launching the coin like a missile at a target. Apparently, that theory needed a little more work.

“That was less than stellar, I admit,” Erin winces, making an unhappy face as she strolled across the room at retrieved her coin. “No doubt, many attempts will need to be made.”

Stoically, the camera watches it all, documenting failed attempt after failed attempt. Twenty of them, to be exact, each caught and recorded to digital memory. Erin threw the coin every which way: overhand, underhand, sideways like she was attempting to skip a rock, in an arcing underhand like she was throwing a beanbag. Everything. The minutes tick by without success, the physicist narrating every so many throws about theorized possibilities.

Stoically, the camera captures the growing frustration in the tall woman. The shift in her stance. The hardening of her face. The lightening of her eyes someone without knowledge of what happened at the mansion would have missed. The grit of her teeth. The hunching of her shoulders. By attempt thirty she was on the verge of seething, all narration ceased.

Attempt thirty-one: fail

Attempt thirty-two: fail

Attempt thirty three-four-five-six: fail

Frustration was giving way to embarrassed anger. Still, her mechanical companion records without comment, circuits and wires silently observing. Stomping back to the jug that hadn’t moved an inch in the past two hours, Erin snatches her coin from the floor and makes her way back to the starting point. The camera doesn’t capture the ache of her clenched jaw, the burn of her hunched shoulders, the scarlet flush in her cheeks, the scream locked behind her teeth. It only saw what she wanted it to see.

Suddenly rounding on the impromptu target, the thread holding Erin’s temper in place snaps. Her next throw is a hard overhand powered by a scream.

One second her arm is coming down in a hard arc and the next it’s being kicked back with enough force to wrench her appendage out of socket. Coin and human separate like repelling magnets. The room shakes. An invisible force throws the camera to the floor, the screen going fuzzy. Lights flicker and go dark only to ping back to life like a stuttering heartbeat.

Zoom in. Zoom out. In. Out. In. Out like a frantic turtle on its back.

Something picked up the floundering device, holding it with shaky hands. The unfocused lens takes in the now dusty room. Heavy breathing quivers in the microphone. Erin’s face comes into view as she turns the mechanical eye in her direction, filming like this was a found footage movie.

“Holy shit,” the physicist eventually lets slip, the words bubbling excitedly from behind the hand covering her mouth. Her eyes move from the camera lens to something directly in front of her. A giggle escapes next. “ _Holy shit_! I…umm…I think we can call this a success?”

Flipping the camera back around, Erin walks to the wall where the jug had once been. It was now on the floor a little ways away, half of the center blown out. What Erin zooms in on instead is the fist-sized impact crater in the wall directly _behind_ where the jug had been. It wasn’t deep—maybe a quarter of an inch—but it was enough to remove most of the paint around the point of impact. And embedded in the cement is the translucent coin.

With nimble fingers, Erin works the ecto-object free, holding it for the camera’s inspection. No damage done. Not a dent. Not a scratch.

“You can’t break what’s already dead,” Erin giggles through her excitement. Again, she turns the camera around to face her, holding it at arm’s length. Clearing her throat, she attempts to regain her air of professionalism. “Conclusion. Ecto-objects seems to react to strong emotions, which makes perfect sense. It has been theorized more than once that the creation of a ghost is the byproduct of a traumatic, heavily emotional demise. Entities capable of moving between planes of existence would have to retain a large amount of emotion in their ectoplasmic form in order to cross over, so the use of ecto-objects would work on that same principle. Emotion equals reaction. It will take more investigation to determine which emotions work better, but I think we’ll call it a night.”

Erin smiled into the camera, staring into it as it stared back, recording an excited woman with eyes a bit too bright—the whites encroaching on the blue of her iris—and a smile tinted with the slightest hint of blue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <_< and you all thought I was joking. Oh Erin, what have you done?


	13. Heads

October rolled into chilly November, robbing daytime sunshine of its natural warmth and turning the wind into a battle fought with heavy coats and layers.

As expected, the annual Ghostbuster haunted house was a smash hit. Holtzmann outdid herself constructing the walk-through attraction in the alleys beside and behind the firehouse, bringing the chills, thrills, and occasional “ectoplasm” spills along the way. Dozens of people walked away in various states of shock, joy or disbelief—some soaked with slime, others merely spattered. Dozens more tried to figure out how the tallest ‘busters had gotten her eyes and mouth to glow white and blue. Good special effects, some would claim. Awesome makeup, others would say. Erin merely grinned from her place in the maze, ecto-coin rolling continuously across her knuckles. It was just for fun. Technically still on firehouse grounds. Hers and Holtzmann’s little secret, of course.

But with Halloween drifting behind them and November coming on fast and hard, the ‘busters fell into a comfortable routine. Busts were more scarce in the winter. How and why this was remained locked in speculation. Whatever the cause, the four women took the opportunity to finalize pet projects and start planning for the upcoming holidays.

As par usual, Patty would spend Thanksgiving with her family at her grandmother's brownstone in the city. It was a fifty year unbroken Tolan tradition. Woe to the poor idiot who broke that sacrosanct event.

Abby usually flew home to Michigan, but thanks to the wager she’d made with Erin in September, the researcher was bound for upstate New York for a visit with the Gilberts.

“I’m only staying the night,” Abby groused when the topic was broached mid-November. “Then I’ll catch a cab to the airport in the morning. I’m not missing the Yates family tradition of homemade pizzas and microbrews. I’ve waited three years for pizza Thanksgiving to come back, and I’m not about to miss it!”

“Oh man, this year’s the pizza theme?” Erin whined pitifully from her chair across from Abby’s desk, head thrown back and brown hair swinging. They were both taking a break from a mathematic bender centered around the roots of PKE. Unsurprisingly, a blue coin danced unconsciously over Erin’s knuckles as she spoke. “God, your mom makes better pizza than anything we get here, hands down.”

Somewhere in the firehouse, Erin was sure Patty felt a shiver of blasphemy trickle up her spine. As any blue-blooded New Yorker would tell you, NYC had the best pie. Done. Finished. End of story.

“Honey, you and Holtz are more than welcome to come,” Abby laughed, peering up from the crunch of numbers taking up three sheets of paper. She spied the coin but said nothing, knowing it was a losing battle trying to get Erin’s favorite toy away from her. “You know my parents love the both of you. The more the merrier at the Yates table.”    

 “I know, and I love your mom. But my mom wants me and Holtz to stay the weekend. She’s already gotten the guest bedroom made up. I can’t just say no and leave the next morning.”

“Except you can? You’re forty-two, Erin.” The physicist gave her best friend a flat look which the shorter woman returned, matching her stoicism. “Use me as an excuse.”

“It’s all right,” Erin eventually sighed. “Holtz and I will manage without you.”

Which Abby didn’t doubt. As rocky as Erin’s relationship with her parents had been in the past, things had generally smoothed over thanks largely in part to the extensive coverage done by the press after the Time Square incident. Turns out having your daughters “delusions” validated on national TV by literally thousands of eye-witnesses and scientific professionals tended to change people’s minds.

“If you’re sure,” Abby chuckled, letting the matter rest.

A week and a half later, Holtz, Erin, and Abby said goodbye to Patty, wishing her a happy holiday. Since Abby would take a cab to the airport and Patty had the subway, Erin and Holtz loaded up Ecto-1 with their small overnight bag and Abby’s suitcases before setting out promptly at nine.

The drive was a quiet one. Well, it didn’t start out that way. Not with Holtz driving. She had a led foot and penitent to careen through traffic in rhythm with whatever song was playing on the radio until they got onto open highway where she could hit the cruise control and “let my supped up baby do the rest”.

Strapped into the passenger seat and wearing a formal outfit that made her feel like she was back at Columbia again, Erin fidgeted as the city gave way to open interstate and eventually countryside. Visits like these were about as pleasant as a root canal. It was easier when her family lived in Michigan. Avoiding holidays had become as simple as ‘work’s got me locked in’ or ‘the Mayor won’t let us close down’. Now? The Gilberts lived less than three hours away by car, which left no viable excuses.

Erin loved her family. She tried reminding herself that. Tried to swallow the uneasy lump wedging itself in the back of her throat whenever she thought about prolonged visits with them. Her mother was fine. Her father…not so much.

“Someday, you’re going to tell that bastard off,” Abby always intoned whenever the subject was brought up, usually when liquor was involved. And always, Erin would nod along. Agree even. Maybe make a few verbal jabs, but reality was far less watertight. The physicist wouldn’t call herself a coward, never that, but she’d be lying if she said the prospect of facing her father didn’t wrench her out of sleep in a cold sweat.

Thankfully, she wasn’t doing this alone. Abby was in the back seat, passed out like she usually did on long car rides. Holtz was drumming a rapid temp against the worn steering wheel, humming along with “We Built This City” drifting gently from the radio. Erin’s chosen family. The ones who loved her for who and what she was, not what she could be.

Three hours and one bathroom pit-stop later—arguably an excuse for Holtz to tank up on Mountain Dew and Pringles—Ecto-1 swung around a blind corner and coasted up a steep drive that ended in a sprawling Colonial home wedged snugly within a crop of multicolored trees.

“Damn, I always forget how swank your parent’s place is,” Holtz whistled, killing the engine.

It was a Gilbert staple. Always would be. Even growing up, Erin’s home had been large. A not-so-subtle indication of the old money the Gilberts possessed.

“Yeah, dad likes his homes big,” Erin muttered, eyeing the picturesque home that looking like something out of a Home and Garden’s magazine.

“Bigger the home, bigger the ego, the smaller the dick,” Abby snorted, kicking open the door and stretching with a grunt. Holtz cackled from the driver’s seat, snapping a holiday selfie for hers and Erin’s shared Instagram before rolling out of the car. Erin didn’t reciprocate the laughter, mind lost to nervous thoughts. Getting out and breathing in a lungful of cold air scented with wet leaves, she felt her heart rate spike, glancing at her girlfriend over the roof of the car.

Could she do this? Should she do this? Erin’s mind went back and forth, teetering dangerously in both extremes.

“Holtz, can…can I have a minute?” she asked after the blonde slid over the hood of the car—Patty would have killed her dead had she witnessed that—snagging her arm before Holtz could head to the back of the hearse to help Abby with the bags.

“What’s up, buttercup?”

Erin shifted nervously, fingers worrying the collar of her blouse. She put her back to Abby, ensuring the conversation stayed between them. It took her a few seconds to string intelligent words together, but even those were shaky. “Can you do something for me? Can you not freak out?”

By now, Holtzmann was beginning to actually worry and took a step closer, gently touching her girlfriend’s upper arms. “Erin, baby, what’s wrong?”

Showing rather than telling, Erin reached into her blouse. Retracting her hand, she peeled back her fingers, revealing the translucent blue circle nestled in the center of her palm.

An ecto-coin.

Holtz took a reflexive step back, worry turning to sharp concern. “Erin—“

“Please, don’t freak out!” the brunette whispered quickly, looking somewhere between guilty and desperate. “And please, don’t tell Abby. I know…I know we made a deal. I know, but Holtz, I can’t do this on my own merit. I’m terrified, even with you two here. And I know how this looks.” Erin ran a hand through her hair, shifting her gaze to something unseen over Holtz’s shoulder. “I’m breaking our rules. I’m breaking my promise. I just… don’t know how to explain it. I feel grounded when I have a coin on me, and it’s small enough I’m not ionized. It’s just this once. Just for the weekend to help me get through this. Please, _please._ I just—“

Erin felt her breath hitch when Holtz reached out and carefully closed her fingers back over the coin, shielding it from view. She didn’t look happy—brow deeply furrowed and eyes working a fast kind of calculation—but her words were surprisingly steady.

“Sometimes, even the bravest of us need a little shot of courage. I’m not…happy you have that with you, but I understand. I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t snuck whiskey shots in the past to get through oral presentations and shit like that. It’s not a good habit, but I’m not one to judge.”

Feeling her throat constrict, Erin wrapped her arms around her girlfriend, burying her face in the crook of her neck. She knew she’d messed up bringing the coin, but it took some of the weight from her shoulders knowing Holtz understood.

“I love you,” she whispered into the close space between them. “I don’t tell you enough, but I do. And I don’t know what I’d do without you. Any of you.”

Holtz’s unease softened like butter in a microwave as she held her trembling partner. It never ceased to amaze her how powerful those three little words were coming from the woman who had become her life.

“I love you too, baby. We’ll get through this, and I’ll punch your dad in the dick if he tries anything. We lesbians are good at aiming for small things.”

Erin choked with sudden laughter, pulling back and replacing the coin in her shirt—flush against the skin of her chest but well out of view.

“We having an emotional powwow? Cause I want in on that action,” Abby said before she wrapped the both of them in a tight hug. “I know you’re scared, Erin, but we got this.”

“We do,” the brunette smiled, returning the embrace before setting off with her family in toe to the front door. Two knocks and the maroon door was being pulled open and out poured a woman who looked almost like Erin’s twin only two decades older and a smidge taller.

“Erin!” Catherine Gilbert exclaimed excitedly, pulling her daughter into a crushing hug. The younger Gilbert stiffened fractionally before reciprocating, taking a long breath as she did. Her mother smelled like Coach perfume, citrus, and home cooking. Her gray hair was back in a fashionably messy bun secured in place with dark hair sticks.

“Hi, Mom.”

“It’s so good to see you! And Jillian—oh! You liked being called Holtzmann. Sorry. It’s good to see you too!”

"Either is fine, Mrs. Gilbert.”

"Catherine, dear. I’m not that old,” she winked before her eyes widened at the sight of Abby. “Abigale! They told me you were coming, and I couldn’t believe our luck! It’s been too long.”

“It has,” Abby agreed, giving the older woman a warm hug before all three were ushered into the home’s foyer. No sooner had the door shut behind them, a shout of a different kind startled the women.   

"Where are my favorite girls?” A hunched, wiry woman was making her way quickly down the hall, leaning heavily on a cane and using the wall for support. What she lacked in stature she made up for in grin and cackle.  

"Gran!” Holtzmann cried in delight, almost shoving past Erin to wrap the oldest living member of the Gilbert family in a hug that brought the old woman briefly off her feet.

“Holtzy! My beautiful blonde lesbian. How you doing, honey? Still treating my granddaughter like the princess she is?”

“Queen,” Holtz corrected, planting a wet kiss on the woman’s withered cheek. “And yes, always.”

“Good! I’ll kill you if you’re not. Come here, Erin. Let me see you,” the matriarch said, gesturing Erin forward with a wave of a wrinkly hand that didn’t quite move to match the age of the woman.

“I didn’t know you were visiting,” Erin smiled brightly, a fair bit of relief taking the edge off her initial rigidity. Gran Gilbert had been one of the only bright points in her childhood. The woman was a terror—according to her father—but she had been the only one to take Erin’s claims of a haunting seriously and argued continuously with Erin’s father about his treatment of his daughter. Safely put, Gran Gilbert had been one of Erin’s only friends until she met Abby.

“Living here now, chickadee. Retirement home kicked me out. Apparently, having sex with two staff ladies and three retirees is prohibited, or some bullshit like that.”

“I didn’t know we had a play-ah in the family,” Holtz sniggered with a lopsided grin.

“Sweetie, I wrote the book.”

“You were also caught smuggling in liquor,” Catherine muttered under her breath.

“I am eighty-two years old. If I want to have a fucking drink and a fuck later, I can damn well do as I please,” Gran grunted, throwing Holtz a wiry smile which the engineer returned with a hearty laugh.

  “This is what you get to look forward to when I get old,” Holtz murmured into Erin’s ear.

“Oh joy,” the physicist rolled her eyes.

Taking Erin’s hands and spreading her arms so she could get a good look at her now fully grown granddaughter, Gran gave an appreciative nod and made a satisfied sound. “Just as I thought. You are as beautiful as ever, my lovely little beansprout. I— _is that Abigale Lee Yates I spy?!_ ”

"Took you long enough!” Abby laughed, stepping around her friends. “You sure you don’t need glasses?”

“I got new eyeballs year ago and still have mileage on them. God, you have _grown!_ ” A wide smile split the old woman’s face, revealing an impressive set of pearly white dentures. “Last I saw you, you were barely tit-high. Now, look at you! Spitting image of your mama.”

“She will be thrilled to hear that,” Abby grinned, wrapping Gran in a tight hug and kissing her cheek too.

“Shall we take this into the kitchen?” Catherine inquired cheerily, leading the pack out of the entrance way and into the belly of the house.  

The interior of the Gilbert home matched the exterior. Grand. Gaudy. Dripping with a solid mix of Ikea furniture and repurposed antiques, but it smelled wonderful. As a Martha Stewart addict, Erin’s mother was doing her best—and succeeding—at copying her idol with a picturesque holiday feast and dining room spread that looked poised for a photo shoot.

The kitchen was a controlled type of chaos one expected to find during a holiday. Erin’s mother had ingredients sequestered into individual bowls all over the counters with little labels on each explaining where they went. Flour had been laid out for pies. Something was simmering on the range stove. The smell of cooking turkey filled the room and drifted lazily through the house. And at the center of the chaos was Erin’s mother playing the proper hostess, doling out drinks and casting threads of conversation while she multitasked.

"I still don’t see a ring in your finger,” Gran commented as they settled around the island in the kitchen, taking Holtz’s left hand and turning it over with a frown. She tutted in her granddaughter’s direction. “Erin, you’ve not married this hot piece of ass yet? What is wrong with you?”

 _"Gran_!” Erin sputtered around her glass of water, idly wondering if she could set something on fire from the flush overtaking her entire body. Surprisingly, Holtzmann seemed to react similarly, cheeks reddening. Five years dating was certainly a long time for most normal relationships. The two had spoken on and off about marriage but nothing concrete had been decided beyond ‘we’ll get there when we get there’. Time wasn’t of the essence with them. They were simply happy to be.

"Honey,” Gran crooned, leaning against Holtz’s shoulder and giving her a leering smile. “If I was fifty years younger, I’d have snatched you up the first day and married you the night after.”

“Let’s make it twenty years younger and call it a score. I like older ladies. Like a fine wine,” Holtz replied—recovering quickly—with a suggestive eyebrow wiggle, earning a sigh from Erin and a forehead smack from Abby.

“I know you girls just got here, and I’m sorry to ask, but would you mind lending a hand? I only have two, and we’ve got a little ways to go before dinner’s ready,” Catherine chuckled after pleasantries had been exchanged, raising her hands covered in dough from the knot she was kneading, wiggling her fingers for emphasis.

“Of course!” Abby chimed in, eagerly rolling up her sleeves, followed quickly by Erin and Holtz—the latter of the two being forced to wash her hands “just in case”.

"Where’s that worthless son of mine?” Gran snorted, watching the four set to work from her place at the kitchen table. Her hands might be steady enough, but not for delicate work like this. No one noticed Erin’s flinch at the question, her eyes remaining on her task of chopping carrots.

"In his study,” Catherine intoned pleasantly without looking up. “He had a project he was finishing up before dinner.”

“Oh, so he’s in his ‘mancave’ pretending to be a victim of domesticity while the women do all the work. Got yah. God, I still can’t figure out where I went wrong with him.”

“Gran, be nice,” Catherine chided with a shallow frown. She didn’t, however, move to correct the older Gilbert.

“Why? He’s my son. I can say what I please about the slackass man-child.”

Erin tried not to snort but didn’t quite manage, covering it up instead with a cough and a quick look away. Together, the three ‘busters helped prep the meal to come. They lost Erin’s mother to an emergency food run halfway through making the green bean casserole and Holtz to Gran sometime later, the older woman inquiring under her breath how good the blonde’s lock picking skills were.

“I may or may not be banned from the White House grounds on account I sat on the Oval Office desk during a tour.”

“You’re hired. Come with me.”

“Okay, let’s be honest,” Abby grinned, bumping Erin with her shoulder as they took a seat at the table, munching on leftover apple wedges. “The only woman capable of ever steal Holtz from you is your grandmother.”

“Please don't say that because I'm kind of worried she might,” Erin whined good-naturedly, happy to see her girlfriend having a good time. She and Gran were so much alike, it was scary. Somewhere in the depths of her mind, Erin wondered if that was what drew her to Holtzmann in the first place. She acted so much like the only member of her family she actively loved and who loved her back.

A triumphant shout from the other room had the two friends jumping.

“We have liquor and liftoff! Teach my son to lock the liquor cabinet on me, the bastard,” Gran exclaimed, voice echoing through the kitchen. “Erin, where did you find this goddess, and where can I get one?”

“Oh my god,” Erin rubbed her temples, fighting a bemused smile, “in a lab, Gran! I met her in a lab.”

"Wonderful! Have Abby make me one then! I need me a woman like Holtzy!”

“I think the world can only handle one Holtzmann, Gran. Trust me,” Abby chuckled, shaking her head.

Holtz strolled into the kitchen wearing one of her smuggest smiles, carefully repositioning the bobby pin she’d used to pick the lock back into her up-do. Gran shuffled in close behind, three dark, hefty bottles tucked under one arm.

“I’ve been trying to talk Erin into making a clone,” Holtz fake-whined, hitching her hip against the kitchen island and crossing her arms. “But so far she doesn’t want kids.”

Erin felt her entire body ignite in a radioactive flush and was eternally grateful her mother wasn’t around to hear that comment. Oh god, the noise she could make when the prospects of grandchildren were brought up.

“Oh my _lord_ ,” Abby wheezed, trying her hardest to keep from tear up from laughter. “You two are going to give me an ulcer, stop!”

“I won’t pester Erin about great grandkids like my daughter-in-law,” Gran sniffed, digging out a bottle opener from a drawer, “but just know that if yours turn out a dud like mine did, you can't send it back. Believe me, I’ve tried.”

“Jesus, take the wheel,” Erin groaned, covering her face with her hands.

Not long after, Catherine returned and the meal was back on track. Shockingly, Erin was finding herself quiet enjoying the visit, feeling relaxed and comfortable. It wasn’t so bad. She was laughing more than she thought she would be. Joking more. Gran almost made her snoot water out her nose telling Holtz the story about the time Erin sleepwalked in nothing but a pair of pink cowgirl boots when she was nine. Abby countered with a story about Erin in college being pranked by a local science chapter, which opened the floodgates for tattletale-type stories of embarrassing moments shared by all—or told by grinning participants. Yes, all was well and good until Erin’s mother offhandedly asked her to go tell her father dinner would be ready in thirty minutes.

And just like that, the festivities came to an abrupt end with Erin’s heart calcifying into a solid piece of stone and dropping into her stomach. It was Holtz who caught the stricken look on the brunette’s face and made to move next to her, but Erin waved her off.

“I can go with you,” the engineer reassured, speaking quietly so no one else heard.

“No, it’s fine. I can’t keep running from him forever.”

Holtz gave her girlfriend a warm but sympathetic smile. “Okay. Get ‘em, tiger.”

Offering a weak thumbs up, Erin left the kitchen and made her way slowly to her father’s study. It wasn’t far. Only a few turns down the main hallway, but it might have been miles from the safety of her friends and cooperative family. Lightyears even. And when the nondescript, off-white door came into view, it might as well have been the entrance to a dragon’s layer.

Erin raised her fist to knock. Hesitated. Swallowed against the dry patch quickly spreading to the rest of her mouth. Shifted to help settle the slosh of her sour stomach. She could do this. She could. All she had to do was knock and wait, but then why did it feel like she was facing down a board of her peers rather than her father?

Erin knew why but wouldn’t ruminate on that fact for any length of time. Raising her fist, she knocked and held her breath. Waited. Waited. Waited…

"Come in.”

It was a beckon she didn’t want to answer but did anyway. Pressing the handle down, Erin pushed the door open and stepped inside with as much self-assurance as she could muster. The last thing she wanted to do was appear timid in her father’s presence. That never ended well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Double header tonight as an apology for not updating this fic on time. Seriously, life has been shit with university ending and summer classes about to begin. I'm stretched very thin, but still trying to get good shit to yah.
> 
> Reviews literally help me write faster and let me know how I'm doing. Please and thank you!


	14. Or Tails

The room beyond the door was what anyone would expect a scholarly study to look like. Square. Carpeted. Dark wood bookshelves. Trinkets here and there. Framed pictures adorning the walls in regular intervals. A few trophies and accolades cluttering the shelves. And at the back of the room, seated behind a cherry wood desk, was a willowy, waif of a man with dark hair and narrow features.

Christopher Gilbert didn’t immediately lift his eyes from the document he was typing. Whether this was intentional or just habit, Erin took the opportunity—because disturbing her father while he worked was suicide—to browse the room, glancing over the tomes on the shelves and the framed accolades. She let her fingers glance over a small ornate globe on one shelf and a miniature telescope on another before the telltale creak of leather brought her attention back to the desk. Two blue eyes the same color as Erin’s tracked her over a pair of half-moon reading glasses.

“Hello, dad,” Erin nodded with a faint smile, hoping he couldn’t see the slam of her pulse in her throat.

"Erin,” Christopher inclined his head, reclining slightly in his chair. “It’s good to see you again.”

"Mom wanted you to know dinner would be ready in half an hour.”

Christopher nodded as if this was common knowledge. “How long have you been here?”

"We arrived a little after noon.”

"We?”

Erin fought down a sigh. It was never cut and dry with her father. Everything needed and explanation. It was how he goaded people into conversations. “Abby and Jillian are here, too. Did Mom not relay the message?”

"If she did, I must have forgotten.”

Erin doubted that. Very much so. Her father didn’t forget anything. Ever. An awkward silence settled between them. The brunette waffled with the desire to simply leave her father with her delivered message or stay and try to have a civil conversation. As much as the man rattled her cage, Erin still struggled with the consuming need to have her parent’s approval, no matter how sharply worded.

So it was she remained in the study, shifting her gaze around the room that looked so much like the room her father had back in Michigan. Her eyes landing on an old picture, Erin felt herself smile despite her surroundings. Some points of her childhood had been brighter than others.

“I remember when you received this award,” Erin mused, smiling at a picture of her father—decades younger—shaking hands with the curator from the National Air and Space Museum.

That had been on of Erin’s happiest weekends to date. Her father had co-written an astrophysics journal which had won publication. Christopher departed for DC not long after to receive his accolade, Erin and her mother in tow. Erin didn’t remember much of the formal dinner or the hobnobbing that came with it, but she’d gleefully spent two days at the Air and Space museum—her mother liked to joke Erin’s name was in the title if you said it fast enough—elbow deep in all things space and rocket related.

“One of my fonder memories, to be sure. It’s always a joy shaking hands with the top in your field,” her father said, coming out from behind his desk but not moving to embrace his daughter. It wasn’t his style. Leave the hugging to the women, or so he’d like to say.  

 “And your publications? How have they been stacking up this past year? I’ve not come across any.” The inquiry was a barb, as most were. A hook baited with little subtlety and one Erin chose not the avoid. Not this time. She’d come in here with a purpose, after all. So she turned to face him, keeping her face neutral and her tone pleasant.

 “I was recently published in the _Review of Modern Physics_ on a piece I wrote detailing the blending of theoretical physics with the research surrounding massive compact halo objects.”

Short, sweet, and to the point. Erin felt a little proud dropping that bomb on her father, positive the man hadn’t read her work. It wasn’t in his bracket of research, after all.

“You’re studying dark matter?”

"My team and I are, yes. We believe there might be a link between dark matter and psychokinetic energy.”

“So you’re studying dark matter in conjunction with the paranormal. How am I not surprised?”

“I would be surprised if you were seeing as that’s my field of research and employment,” Erin frowned. It wasn’t like she was unused to people scoffing at her field. Hell, it had taken her and the Ghostbusters five years to become accredited in the eyes of most of their scientific peers. Paranormal research was still a rubber chicken field. More people thought it was a joke thanks to the hundreds of reality TV shows claiming to be “paranormal researchers”. But the Ghostbusters had busted their humps to be taken seriously—Erin had devoted nearly every waking moment of her life to prove what she and her colleagues were doing was valid—and in time they were finally accepted by the scientific community…well, most of it. There were still naysayers, but they were becoming fewer and fewer.

Unfortunately, Christopher Gilbert was one of those skeptics and an avid one at that.

"Ah yes. How could I forget? My daughter is a city funded _ghost hunter_.”

“Government funded, actually,” Erin corrected, feeling heat pool in her cheeks.

“Getting money from the Mayor is hardly government funded. Especially knowing how the man loves his pet projects.”

"We actually receive funding through not only the state of New York but also the EPA. Abby has also been in talks with NASA, and I’m sure you are familiar with Jillian’s affiliation with Doctor Rebecca Gorin and her connection to CERN. We also have quite a few international donners as well.”

Small victories were victories nonetheless when it came to her father. Erin knew she was treading on thin ice provoking the man. Maybe it was a bad habit she’d picked up from Abby. Maybe it was witnessing too many moments where Holtzmann tore a persnickety science peer down at a gala when they insulted their work. Whatever the reason, Erin wasn’t about to be belittled by someone who wasn’t even affiliated with their field.

"Money wasted on chasing fairy tales, but who am I to argue? Skeptics have little place in the world of paranormal research.”

“I would prefer not to argue this point with you,” Erin said, releasing a slow exhale.

“Why am I not surprised?”

“You and I have two very different ways of seeing things,” the physicist continued as if not interrupted. “I’m sorry you can’t accept my research as valid, but I’m not going to try and change your mind. Not when I have thousands of eye-witnesses backing not only my claims but live proof of actual paranormal entities back in the lab, which you are more than welcome to visit at any time. Your and mom’s invitation still stands. We’d love to show you two around the facility.”

“I don’t understand this backtracking you’ve done with your life,” Christopher said, moving towards the liquor cabinet across the room. “Where did things go so wrong you felt you needed to jump into a career chasing shadows?”

Erin’s eyebrows snapped together so quickly they could have clapped. “I beg your pardon? How has anything I’ve done since leaving Columbia backtracking?”

“You went to Princeton,” her father ticked off on his fingers. “You graduated at the top of your class. You were almost tenured at Columbia. You were dating a fellow colleague with a promising career. At want point did you decide living at the top of academic excellence wasn’t good enough you had to start slumming it up with community college teachers and ghost hunters?”   

"When I realized I wasn’t living true to myself,” Erin fired back honestly, tongue like a whip. “When I realized you were living vicariously through me, and I wanted to do something for me and my life rather than chasing this fanciful delusion that I could somehow please you.”

Christopher scoffed, rolling his eyes as if the notion was utterly nonsensical, but Erin persisted.

“I chose a career that makes me happy, and yes, believe it or not, what I and my colleagues do is accredited. Your daughter is at the forefront of forging an entirely new science, but you can’t seem to get past the part where I chose what I wanted.”

The rebuke took Erin back a bit she had to blink a few times to realize that had come out of her mouth. It had just pounced on her before reason could catch up with thought.

“Colleagues,” Christopher snorted, rolling the word like it was a taint in his mouth. “You went from Columbia grants and research partners to your childhood friend, the ex-MTA employee, and the blonde wrecking ball. Those are the people you want attached to your ‘research’?”

“Yes,” Erin snapped, reaching the end of her rope. “Those are the people I want attached to my research, one of which is my partner of almost five years whether you want to recognize it or not.”

“Which one? Abigale or Jillian? As I recall, you were with Abby for a time, so I guess you’re also working their your ex and current lover. My god,” Christopher shook his head in bemusement, returning to his desk with a glass of what Erin suspected was bourbon in hand. “Add in a mysterious pregnancy and you all could go into reality TV. But wait, so many of your _colleagues_ are already on TV. I watched one the other day. Some boys called _Ghost Stalkers._ Affiliates of yours?”            

Bristling couldn’t accurately describe what Erin’s body was doing. Even coiling was too soft a word. She felt the burn of her shoulders bunching almost like she had hackles that were rising. “You do not get to talk about mine and Abby’s past like you know a damn thing about it.”

“Don’t I?” Erin’s father queried, the amusement gone from his features like a switch being thrown. Leaning back, he set his glass down with a click, cold blue eyes burning across the short distance. “Let me tell you something about your relationship with the Yates girl, daughter of mine. The fact your mother and I tolerated Abigale’s presence in your life was solely based on the fact we were tired of paying children to befriend you.”

Erin felt herself blanch but refused to lower her gaze. Not now. He’d win if she did and they were indeed locked in combat. Had been since Erin opened her mouth and took the bait. Now it was a struggle against fish and fisherman.

“At no point,” Christopher continued, “was I pleased with your friendship. She filled your head with fantasies and fairy tales. Talking about how ghosts and the paranormal were real and undoing the expensive therapy me and your mother went into debt getting you because of the ghost you dreamed up. But your mother was so _thankful_ you’d made a friend, and I foolishly believed it would be good for you. Had I known that woman would turn my daughter into a ghost hunting lesbian working out of a New York firehouse, I would have put a stop to it before it even began and sent you to private school where you belonged.”

Erin had been wrong. She couldn’t face this, not when her father’s words cut her like a white-hot knife. They always did. It was what he was good at. He made it a sport finding the weak link in people’s armor and exploiting it, honing his skills on his flesh and blood. It was a game that had only ever had one winner.

Erin felt her stomach sour and turned, searching for a place to anchor herself. The liquor cabinet would give her hands something to do while she warred an internal battle.

She couldn’t do this.

Not on her own.

She wasn’t strong enough.

Brave enough.

Mean enough…

Bearing down on her back teeth until her temples throbbed, Erin squeezed her eyes shut and clenched her fists, fighting the consuming urge to flee. That’s what she usually did when arguments with her father came to a head. Walk away. Hide with her mother. Let her father win. It was better that way. It was safer.

It wasn’t what she wanted…

So it only came as a slight surprise when cold bloomed icy-hot across her chest and raced up Erin’s spine. Menthol hit the back of her throat like she’d just chewed mint gum and swallowed a mouthful of ice water, the room brightening by several degrees, color and sound enhancing.

Still partially leaning on his desk, Christopher watched his daughter with a knowing smirk. When Erin retreated to the liquor cabinet, he allowed himself a small sigh, missing when his daughter’s shoulders rolled, head jerking to the side with a faint pop.

“And in regards to your infatuation with Jillian, I hoped this phase of yours had been laid to rest. Experimentation in college is one thing. You are forty-two, Erin. If you had any ounce of self-respect, you wouldn’t settle for the second-hand lesbian who lights herself on fire every other day and who was investigated for murder because of her negligence at CERN. Yes, I know a few people too, dear.”  

Christopher blinked in surprise, unsure why his ears were popping and worked his jaw to relieve the pressure. Amid the bubbles making their exit from his ear canal, he heard the cabinet’s door click closed harder than necessary and looked up. Squinted. Blinked again, unsure if it was the trick of the light that made his daughter’s irises look completely white in the reflection of the liquor cabinet’s glass front. No, it must be a trick because Erin was turning to face him and she looked herself but…not.

A sense of wrongness settled in the air like drifting Napalm. Little hairs stood on end. Electricity tainted each breath with a faint scent of ozone. Erin’s posture was…slack in a relaxed kind of way. Shoulders down. Head slightly canted to one side. Face pleasant. But it was like a rose hiding thorns under the gentle smile curling her lips. Thorns that hardened into knives in her icy stare.

A beat of silence. The two stared at one another, Erin twisting the glass in her fingers absently while sizing her father up. That’s the only way Christopher could describe it. Being weighed and measured.

“Bravo, Father. That was a good game,” Erin finally broke the silence. Raising the glass of whiskey she’d poured herself, ice tinkling against the crystal container, she lifted it to her lips and sipped before continuing. “And so like you to pull low punches. But then again, you’ve never really aimed for something out of your immediate reach.”

Christopher leaned back like he’d been pushed by a strong gust of wind. He opened his mouth but Erin was faster.

“You were always so good at unwanted and unwarranted attacks. I wonder if it’s hereditary or if it can be learned. Here, let me try.” Erin readjusted herself like she was preparing to launch into a lecture. “You have the gall to criticize my publications when the only notable piece of work you’ve published was twenty years ago in a science magazine that has since been discontinued. You worked five years at a local community college but were denied tenure, and I mean, who would honestly want to be shackled and chained to…what was it you called it? Clown College? What with your budding scientific career and all, I can understanding wanting to keep your prospects open.”

Eyes never once leaving her father, Erin watched the man begin to bristle, a telltale flush climbing his neck. Never, to memory, and his daughter ever challenged him, succeeding in keeping him in stunned silence.

“In retrospect, your only flesh and blood has gone on to not only publish no less than a dozen accredited articles to outstanding science journals and published three bestselling novels, she is spearheading an entirely new research field and is, currently, one of the greatest undisputed minds in theoretical particle physics this side of the Pacific ocean. But I can see why a man of your status and,” Erin looked her father up and down, prolonging the drag of her eyes from his feet to his livid face, “intellect would stoop to taking pot shots at my colleagues, my sexuality, and my career field. I mean, it’s only right you ridicule what you can’t comprehend, so let me teach you how someone properly tears a person down.

“You are a sad, bigoted, hateful little man without an original thought in his head. You proclaim to be so well versed in the realms of science yet refuse to wrap your head around proven facts, clinging to your beliefs like a creationist facing down Neil deGrasse Tyson. You are an old man stuck in the past, dragging those down around him, drowning everyone else so you can stay afloat in a sea where you are no longer the biggest shark. Your rigidity is causing you to break rather than bend, ensuring that, when you do die, you will die ignorant and alone with nary a soul to mourn your passing. I certainly won’t shed a tear, but I’m sure Mom will cry for posterities sake before resettling with a man who doesn’t possess the temper of a five-year-old with the vocabulary of a high school chemistry teacher and the personality of limp cardboard.    

"Simply put, you are outdated, outclassed, outmatched, and outgunned, but please continue to belittle the only personal actively working to make the Gilbert name a household name while you polish trophies from your college years and pretend you’re relevant.”

Knocking back the last of her whiskey -- the burn not registering--Erin carefully placed the empty container next to her father’s on the desk, purposely invading his personal space as she did.

“And before you conjure a proper retort, Father, know this,” Erin said over his shoulder, keeping her eyes forward while her father slides his sideways to glance at her. “The family I have chosen is _mine_ , and I protect what is mine. The way I see it, you are a Class 4 with a nasty temper, and I’ve run out of patience. Do tread carefully.”

With no further preamble, Erin left her father’s study and the gaping, stunned man still rooted against his desk. Letting the door close behind her with a soft click, she breathed in and exhaled a smile and low giggle, rolling her neck in the process. _God_ , did she feel good. Better than good. Outstanding. Powerful. Predatory.

Yes, that was a good word. She felt like an apex predator prowling around lesser creatures, and _fuck_ if she didn’t want this feeling to last. To grow. To morph into something more carnal that would help keep unwanted emotions at bay.

 That opportunity presented itself sooner than expected when Holtzmann came swinging out of the kitchen with a hearty laugh. “I’ll get you next year, Gran! Mark me! Jillian Holtzmann does not lose at high-stakes turkey carving!”

“Take your loss like a woman, you pussy!” Gran could be heard cackling from the other room over the whine of an electric turkey carver.

“Better than taking it like a man and throwing a tantrum _like someone I know!_ ”

“I’ve got a bigger dick than yours in a box back at the retirement home, Holtzy. Try harder.”

Holtz was just about to respond when she spotted Erin turn the corner and trotted over, wrapping her in a hug and planting a sloppy kiss against her temple. “God, I love your grandmother. How’d your talk with your father go? Everything okay?”

“Good,” Erin smiled, tilting her head. “Better than good. Great, actually.”

“That’s my feisty girl! Stick it to him!” Holtz pulled the brunette a little closer, using their proximity to whisper into her ear, “And I’ll stick it to you later as congratulations, if you’re up for it.”

The whispering was fine, but the solid bite to her ear lobe was entirely unnecessary. Holtz knew that. Felt the shiver run through Erin’s body the moment they were touching, but she was feeling playful and wanted to pass it along. Little did she know she was playing with an already lit brush fire looking to spread to dryer pasture.

Erin didn’t give Holtz a chance to teasingly dance away. Moving with a speed unnaturally fast for the taller woman, Erin snagged the blonde by her arm and spun her back around the corner. In a push that had the breath leaving both their lungs, Erin pressed them against the wall, her lips crashing over Holtz’s, silencing her startled yelp. To say the smaller woman was taken aback was an understatement, but it didn’t take her more than a skip between heartbeats to reciprocate. Deepen the kiss. Let her hands wander farther than would be deemed appropriate for an embrace in Erin’s parent’s home.

“You gotta let me breathe, Gilbert,” Holtz panted with a smile, struggling to come up for air.

"Breathing’s overrated,” Erin muttered against her girlfriend’s lips, delicate fingers working free the buttons of Holtz’s shirt and pulling the fabric aside. The blonde stifled a gasp when Erin bent and ran the length of her cool tongue across the front of her chest to the hollow of her throat.

"Not…complaining,” she arched, head falling back, “but w-what’s gotten into you?”

“Nothing important,” Erin hummed, sucking gently and applying a light grazing of teeth. By angling herself slightly off center, she was able to bring her knee into Holtz’s groin with a roll of her hips, satisfied when the blonde moaned low in her throat. “But then again, you’re not _in me_ , so that might be a problem we need to fix.”

“Your family is—“

"My family can go fuck themselves.”

"Th-that’s not usually how—“

“Jillian,” Erin drew back far enough she captured her girlfriend’s eyes with her own, snaring her like a pine martin in a snap-trap. “Fuck me or watch me fuck myself. Those are the options.”

Holtz’s mind slipped, unable to find traction. Had those words just come out of her tweed-loving, slightly uptight girlfriend’s mouth? The same woman who struggled for over two years with showing PDA? The same woman whose mouth was quirking in a smirk that set her blood on fire? Holtz floundered, gaping like a fish pulled out of its pond.

Erin sighed through her nose, fingers still tangled in the collar of Holtz’s shirt. “Guess that means I’ll be satisfying myself—“

It was Erin’s turn to be cut off mid-sentence by a hard kiss flavored liberally with tongue and teeth and a low growl rumbling from the engineer.

"You got a place we can go?” Holtz husked, fingers twisting into the brunette’s hair and giving it a solid squeeze as she holds the taller woman flush against her. Erin didn’t verbalize her reply. She simply led them to a closed-off washroom down the hall. It had a locking door. That would suffice.

There was nothing slow or sensual about their coming together. Nothing soft or timid. Teeth and tongue and grabbing hands led the way. Clothing removed with little ceremony and less gentility. Bodies crashing back together like celestial beings submitting to the pull of each other’s gravity.

Hands cupping Erin’s butt, Holtz lifted and settled the taller woman on the dryer, breaking her kiss long enough to pepper scorching kisses between Erin’s breasts. Shoving the material of her bra aside, Holtz took her time dragging the flat of her tongue across Erin’s pebbling nipple while her free hand firmly gripped the other, applying enough pressure to make the brunette gasp and arch, hissing in both pain and pleasure. She knew her game well enough, tuning Erin to the right frequency before abandoning her breasts and slipping between her legs, knees draped over each shoulder.   

The first long, slow lick through Erin’s core has her practically dropping back against the dryer, capping a charged moan by sinking her teeth into her bottom lip. Bracing herself with one hand, the fingers of Erin’s other hand seeking and tangle in Holtz’s hair, drawing the blonde in. Holtz reacts to the silent plea and dips ever so slightly inside before returning to Erin’s clit and wrapping her lips around it while her own hand strays past the waistband of her pants and seeks out her already hardened clit.

It takes little time for Erin to clench around her, thighs trembling with the effort of not squeeze her girlfriend’s head to the point of popping. Holtz loses herself to the rhythm until the heat pooling in her core boils over and she’s gasping an orgasm against Erin’s folds. The sensation drives the other woman to the edge, but it’s the sudden shock of Holtz swapping out her arousal-soaked mouth for two fingers soaked in her own cum, angling them high and curling slightly towards the front, that takes her into the stratosphere.

Panting, sweating, bucking, Erin rides Holtzmann’s fingers, the arm around her torso the only thing keeping her grounded. Grunting with the effort, Holtz thrusts hard and fast, satisfied when she feels her partner’s body suddenly tense and clamp around her fingers, a scream lodged in the back of her throat. Erin comes hard, bending in half over her girlfriend in an effort to keep the whole house from hearing her.

“Fuck…that was—that was,” Holtz made a vague gesture with her hands, half-standing, half-laying across Erin’s lap. “Wow. Where the _hell_ did that come from?”

“I guess facing my demons lights my fire,” Erin chuckled, threading her fingers in and out of Holtz’s now unkempt hair and earning herself a soft rumble of appreciation.

“Never took you for one who gets off to confrontation.”

“How many times have we jumped each other after a bust?” Erin snorted, rolling her eyes.

“Touché.” Holtz took her time pulling herself upright, cleaning her hands and face on a nearby rag she offered to Erin who did the same. “So, tell me, does this mean there might be a repeat performance later this evening, my feisty glow-bug?”

Erin’s smile was as sharp as it was coy as she tugged back on her jeans and readjusted herself until appearing presentable enough. Holtz could irritatingly carry off the disheveled look without raising suspicion. She could not.

“We’ll see where the night goes.”

“I like you playing hard to get,” Holtz winked, dipping into slip Erin a kiss. The two exited the washroom—after checking the coast was clear—just in time for Erin’s mother to sound the call to dinner.

Holtz bounced off ahead, shouting something about Gran getting stuffing privileges. The brunette honestly didn’t know but attempted to let herself uncoil a little more. The sex, impromptu and powerful, hadn’t exactly done its job of loosening the knot Erin felt just below her breastbone. Likely the result of a lack of adrenaline. Easy enough to fix.

Hand pressed flat against her chest, the physicist focused on the presence of her coin wedged into her bra, relieved when the another burst of icy ionization picked free the knot and let her breathe.

Erin kept a pleasant façade through dinner, chatting happily with her mother, laughing at Holtz and her grandmother’s antics, and filling in the family on hers and Abby’s research—omitting PKE research for obvious reasons. Toasts were made. Jokes were shared. Somewhere in between courses, the dinner wine was exchanged for a desert wine. Everyone was happy. Everything seemed like a Hallmark Thanksgiving save for the fact Christopher Gilbert hardly spoke and Erin’s smile was brittle in places and sharp in others.

The festivities carried late into the evening, moving from the dining room to the parlor where desert—pumpkin and apple pie—was served and more happy memories were made until the late hour dragged Erin’s parents to their room. Gran, a veteran partier, lasted almost as long as Abby before the two called it quits sometime after one in the morning—Abby had a flight in five hours and needed the rest.

Together, Holtz and Erin retreated to the guest room, continuing where they left off in the washroom earlier that evening at a slower and less frantic pace until the late hour claimed them…well, it claimed one of them.

She couldn’t sleep. Not with the conversation she’d had with her father still rolling around in her brain like balls of toxic tar, sticking to every thought and tainting them. Tainting her. Tainting everything. Stealing the flush of her victory and replacing it with guilt and rage. Why couldn’t he understand? Why did he have to be such a bastard? Why wasn’t she good enough? Over and over and over again. Rolling endlessly until Erin couldn’t stand lying in one spot any longer staring at her ceiling. She needed to be up and moving. She needed to think. To decompress.

Sleep wouldn’t find her tonight. Holtz was already passed out. Thank god for small blessings. So Erin stood at the foot of the bed, letting the darkness work its course and shroud her, letting her emotions free for the first time since dinner. Her fingers tighten around her ecto-coin, drawing on the energy until the muscles in her arm begin to ache from the strain. Cold fury climbs her like creeping vines, sparking behind her eyes and in the back of her throat. The room grows brighter, lit with false PKE fire.

How dare he. How dare he belittle her every achievement. How dare he belittle her relationship with Holtz, with Abby, with the Ghostbusters. Who was he? Really, who was Christopher Gilbert in the grand scheme of things?

 _No one,_ Erin seethes, face a stony mask set in a chilling kind of placid fury. _Nothing of consequence. Nothing but a bitter old man clinging to his bigotry and a false sense of ideological life._

In the bed stopping just shy of her knees, Erin’s father shifts in his slumber. He’s sleeping fitfully tonight. Good. Let him toss and turn. Let him sweat. Let him feel fear. White eyes stare down at the man responsible for so much pain and self-loathing. Cold. Clinical. Deadly.

It wouldn’t take much.

The coin shifts into a ready position on Erin’s knuckles, skipping across them. Soundless. Weightless. No, it wouldn’t take much. Humans were such frail creatures…so susceptible to internal interference…it wouldn’t take much…

In a flurry of upset sheets, Christopher sat upright, sucking in a hard breath and drags his eyes around the room. The empty room. The room filled with a slithering kind of cold setting into his bones. No one was there. No intruder. No threat. Then why did he feel like something was watching him? The hairs on the back of his neck wouldn’t lay down. Even when he released a shaky breath and settled back against his pillows, Christopher couldn’t shake the sensation of lingering wrongness. The same wrongness he’d felt when speaking to his daughter and thinking, briefly, she looked like someone else in the mirror’s reflection.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that's terrifying...and not a good sign. Nope. Everyone, meet Hyde.
> 
> Reviews literally help me write faster and let me know how I'm doing. Please and thank you!


	15. Mimic

“Erin! You go left! I’ll go right! Let’s pin this motherfucker before it gets to the roof!”

They were running hard, hot in the heels of a hell-beast straight out of an H.R. Giger painting. All legs and long limbs and skittering clawed feet. Rolling and boiling over itself as it climbed the walls, shrieking at the Ghostbusters attempting—and failing—to get a proton stream around it.

Almost a quarter of the winter had gone by without a single notable bust and this monstrosity crawls out of the New York sewer into the laundry room of an old apartment. It ate three cats before turning on an unsuspecting woman coming to get her unmentionables from the dryer. The neighboring tenants called the police because of the screaming. When the officers discovered the kill site along with the supernatural culprit, they’d immediately phoned the Ghostbusters but unwittingly let the creature loose into the rest of the building.

From there it was a multi-story chase.          

“Any idea why this manifested now?” Erin shouted in response to Abby’s command to go left, shouldering open the swinging door to a third story kitchen and just barely missing the butcher knife that came to a quivering stop next to her left ear. Holtzmann almost slammed into her due to her abrupt stop. They were practically on top of each other in these small apartments.

“Ley line spiked earlier today,” Abby grunted, pounding away at the creature with her Jaw Breaker and blowing holes in the plaster walls as she did. “Caught it on one of the ground sonars Holtz installed near the Mercado. Think that did it.”

“I blame the holidays. Christmas brings out the worst in everyone,” Holtz chimed in over Erin’s shoulder. “Probably the soul of a Black Friday victim.”

Wedging her proton shotgun into her shoulder, Erin loosed two blasts into the beast, wounding it, but not bringing it down. Shrieking, it hooked itself to the ceiling and burrowed through the wood and plaster to the apartment above.

“Shit! We can’t let it—“

“Get to the roof, I know! Give me a boost!”

“The fucking hell I will! You’re not going—“

“Boost me, Abby. We don’t have time to run for the stairs!” Erin shouted, already climbing on top of the counter.

“Patty!” Abby called as the creatures translucent blue tail slipped through the hole. “We need your shoulders!”

Thundering into the kitchen, Patty got Erin up into the break between apartment while Abby and Holtz scrambled for the stairs, the latter of the two digging out and priming proton grenades in the process.

Squeezing through the tight passage, Erin rolled to her feet and shoulders her gun, scoping down the barrel. Somewhere in the back of her head, the theme from Mission Impossible played, and she wondered if she’d been spending too much time with Holtz. Then again, five years of doing this pretty much made her a combat veteran.

The apartment was dark, naturally. All of the tenants had been evacuated and the electricity shut off along with the gas when the beast snapped a line during its first burrow through the floors. No people and no electronics meant the apartment was quieter than it had been in decades, providing Erin with a prime opportunity to track her query without outside disturbances.

One room cleared. On to the next. Slow. Steady. Methodical. Erin took her time, ears open, finger a hair trigger. An arm suddenly materialized out of the wall like she was in a cheap haunted house, swiping at her. Erin kicked back and released a shot. The entity shrieked in pain, blue and green ectoplasm oozing from the wound in its side. Then it's running again, barreling through the apartment into the hallways with Erin hot on its heels.

Two more shots. Her shoulder burned from the recoil. She didn't stop running, not even when voices crackle through her walkie-talkie. Not even when the beast rips through another wall and burrows into a fresh apartment, looking for a place to hide.

Erin was on the hunt and nothing would stop her.

Swinging in through the hole in the hallway, Erin stepped into a tight kitchen identical to the one she’d just been in. Her breath was heavy with white vapor fogging inches from her face. Apparently, the entity was stronger than they’d anticipated if it could pull the ambient energy from the air. Something in Erin reveled in the prospects of a challenge, curling her lips at the edges.

Red glow proceeding her and illuminating the apartment in eerie shades, Erin took her time picking her way through the destruction. She peered around corners. Used her ears. Felt with senses she wished were heightened because then she could pinpoint where the thing—

The wall directly beside her exploded with enough force it threw Erin off her feet and into a refrigerator. Taken by surprise, the brunette didn't have time to shield herself from the shower of debris, but her slide to the floor protected her from the whip of the entity’s barbed tail that would have likely taken Erin’s head off at the shoulders had she been standing.

Recovering with a coughing gasp, the physicist managed to fire off a round from her shotgun, earning another enraged and pained wail from her assailant. The beast faltered in its retreat, bleeding heavily and leaving a trail in its wake.

“Erin! Apartment number, babe,” Holtz’s voice crackled over the radio on her shoulder.

“Don’t…don’t know!” she shouted back, coughing plaster dust from her lungs as she stumbled to her feet and took chase once again. “Got off a shot. Pursuing now.”

“Wait for us!” Abby warned, but Erin was already moving.

Jumping into a hall, she followed the line of greenish-blue slime into a living room packed full of porcelain angels and cat statues. It smelled like mothballs and was decorated with enough doilies and lace to choke even the most avid doll collector.

“What is it with old people and doilies?” Erin muttered under her breath, eyes darting everywhere. The entity could be—

“Hello?”

Erin jumped at the wobbly voice, immediately looking around for the originator. She didn’t call out—horror movie survival 101 dictated you didn’t call back when random voices called out to you. Instead, she crept towards the back bedrooms and was more than a little surprised when an older woman peeked around the corner, eyes wide and huge behind her large spectacles.

“Are you the police?” she asked, not moving from her position. “What’s going on? I woke to a horrible racket.”

Lowering her gun fractionally, Erin kept her senses open. “No, ma’am. I’m Doctor Gilbert with the New York Ghostbusters. The building has been evacuated.”

“What’s going on?” she asked again, still not moving from her frightened peek around the corner.

“There is a Class 4 entity on the loose. Ma’am, we need to leave. You can’t stay here.”

“I woke to a horrible racket,” the woman explained, pointing with a shaking hand to the side of her head. “Horrible racket.”

“We need to leave now, ma’am. Can you please follow me?”

This was bad. So very bad. Erin bit her lip, glancing back at the destroyed kitchen. She had a decision to make and fast. The entity could likely have burrowed higher into the complex. If it got to the roof, it would likely enter the city proper, and then this haunting was no longer a contained event. They couldn’t afford another Rowan situation, so she looked back—

The woman was there, not two feet from her.

Erin hadn’t heard her move. Hadn’t even seen the shuffle in her periphery. She was just there staring at her, close enough Erin could see her reflection in the woman’s round glasses and smell her dated perfume and something undeniably irony. The hairs on the back of the physicist’s neck prickled.

“Are you the police?” The curious cant of the woman’s head was jerky, wooden almost, and the voice. It tried so hard to sound normal, but there was something off about it. Something off about the harmonics and the lilt, like listening to an old recording.

Erin edged back and the woman followed, keeping the distance between them the same.

“I woke to a horrible racket.”

“Whom am I speaking to?” Erin asked very, very carefully. If this was a possession…

The irony smell. It grew degree’s stronger, drawing Erin’s line of sight to a spreading red stain taking over the elderly woman’s torso, creeping around the front from behind. And there was…something moving under the fabric. Climbing. Seeking.

“Whom am I…speaking…to?”

What little warmth resided in Erin’s blood froze. It wasn’t exactly the same—there were differences in pitch—but the voice coming from the old woman’s mouth sounded like Erin’s.

The woman watched her silently. She didn't move. Didn't even appear to breathe. The round wetness of her eyes reflected the glow of Erin’s proton gun. Time slows. It feels like an eternity. In reality, it was a handful of seconds. A stalemate. Two entities staring the other down. Neither moving because it would signal the beginning of the end for one of them.

Breathe in. Calculate variables. Calculate probabilities. Breathe out. Repeat.

When Erin caught the slow slide of something greenish brown drip from the woman’s right nostril, her answer made itself know.

Erin didn't hesitate. There was no life to save here. The woman was already dead but her body was still warm. Still had cooling blood and tissue that exploded under the thunderous heat of Erin’s proton shotgun. The blast rocks the frail figure but doesn’t bring it down. Wouldn’t. There was a Class 4 hiding inside, but it at least hurt the fucker.

The old woman staggered back, barely catching herself on the edge of an old couch. She put a hand against the gaping hole in her abdomen—a blue tint shining through—the half of her face that hadn’t been completely charred off scrunching in an expression similar to confusion. It’s fleeting. Anger rushed in to takes its place, and suddenly the woman’s jaw was jerked down hard enough it dislocates and falls off completely. The scream that issued from the gaping, bloody maw rattled the windows.       

The mimic bursts towards her in a blur, exploding out of the flesh sack it was hiding in like a gooey nova of limbs and claws and cold ectoplasm. Erin braces. She’s got one line of defense against exactly this. Her ghost-be-gone. It activated on her hip like it’s programmed to, throwing the entity back in a flare of blue energy, giving Erin a chance to load and fire a salt round.

The shriek was unearthly and deafening. Not as powerful as the banshee, but it’s still enough to make Erin’s vision blur. Her head suddenly cracks against the wall behind her hard enough she sees stars. She’s breathless. Gasping. Struggling to remain upright but it’s hitting her again, punching her and it through the front door into the hallway. And then it's inches from her face, breath rancid with the stench of rotting blood and flesh matter.

But the face that looks back at her is familiar. Chillingly so. Her features are warped and distorted, like a funhouse mirror. Jaw too low. Brow too high. Chin too sharp. Eyes too close together, but the overall appearance was definitely an attempt to copy Erin, and the physicist suddenly realized what they’re up against wasn’t a simple Class 4. This was a full blown mimic.

“Don’t fucking touch me,” she snarled, lips peeling back from her teeth even as she struggles to be free from the creature that had her pinned upright against the hallway wall.

“Don’t fucking touch me,” it spits back in a cruel twist of her voice, the horror of its face splitting into a smile revealing rows and rows of switchback teeth.

“Erin! Where are you?” Patty’s voice crackled through the walkie-talkie, and the physicist froze. Oh no…no, no, no. “We heard that scream from here!”

"Fourth floor,” the mimic said with a smile, speaking into the walkie before Erin could make a grab for it. Then the plastic device was crushed in its clawed grip and thrown aside.

Tilting its head, it examined the brunette with cold, dead eyes flickering with false PKE life. Erin stared back, pinned to the wall like a bug against corkboard. This was bad. This was how people died. Split up from their group and ambushed, and didn’t that just light a fire in Erin’s blood. It happened to Abby with the banshee. Erin had been dead-set on it not happening to her, but here she was and oh, wasn’t she pissed? Had been since coming back from her holiday visit with her parents—if she was speaking honestly—and the last thing Erin needed was a bust going south.

The mimic moved its head like a snake searching for a heat source, bobbing back and forth, by Erin’s right ear then her left. Smelling. Sensing. Waiting for something the pinned physicist couldn’t place. Then it stops its erratic movement, body growing still. That’s almost more terrifying than the mimic moving.

“You don’t smell like the rest of them,” the entity says in her voice, drawing away by retracting some of its elongated neck. It moved in again with shocking speed, sniffing hard by Erin’s left ear.

“Good shower gel,” Erin managed through clenched teeth. In the back of her mind, she knew she’d been around Holtz too long if she was making cracks like that during moments like these.

“You are not one of us,” it hissed as if not hearing, rattling like a snake backed into a corner.

“No, I’m a fucking human.”

“Tainted.” It pauses, considering, drawing close, staring Erin down. “Why are you hiding?”

“Not…hiding…anything,” Erin grits out, leaning back as far as she can away from the entity, struggling to reach the trigger of her gun.

“I see you hiding. Come, come, come out to play,” it singsongs, peeling lips now identical to Erin’s back off teeth that looked more human. Slowly, carefully, it was taking shape of its next victim.

“Get…fucked!” Erin could feel her anger spiking, desperation turning into volcanic magma in her veins.

"Then I will make you come out.”

Spindly fingers make for her bare neck, and suddenly Erin’s panic grows ten-fold. Her own hands stop their groping for her gun and whip up, snatching the mimic’s own throat in response. It was purely reflexive, but her reaction doesn’t surprise her near as much as when Erin’s naked fingertips dip into the entity and her body begins to _pull_ at something.

There’s no menthol cold racing up her arm and burning in the back of her throat. It’s electricity and fire and ice tangling in a chaotic dance that has Erin’s spine arching and her jaw locking. It’s an explosion in a vacuum, white-hot and deadly but contained to the smallest point like the splitting of an atom. She and the mimic feel this simultaneously, two sets of eyes snapping down to where they are now connected, but when one looks up through eyebrows losing their brown hue, there is white overtaking blue iris’.

“Insect,” Erin growls, tightening her grip. A grip like iron. A grip no human should possess. “No one hides here but me, and you think this scares me?” Her fingers sink into the sides of the mimic’s long neck, pushing it back as its body begins to writhe and twist, fighting to get away. It had a better chance escaping a black hole “You think I’ve not killed uglier things?” She starts applying pressure to her pull like a mosquito who’s tapped a vein. The mimic sinks to the floor, the PKE keeping it locked into this world guttering like a candle in the wind as it flows into another being far beyond its equal.

“You thought you’d get the jump on me? Thought you had a right to cross over into my world and take a life? Then you pin me to a wall and laugh in my face like the joke isn’t on you?”

She’s shaking now, every nerve and neuron alive and screaming. The familiar cold finally caught up, seeking and finding every crack in Erin’s body, filling it. It’s liquid mercury. She breathes it in. Embraces it. Revels in it. Allows it to overtake the fire of her rage and turn it ecto-blue.

“This is my game,” she seethes, bearing her teeth and revealing the intense blue glow shining in the back of her throat. “I am untouchable! I make the rules, and only I rule here! _You can’t kill me!_ ”

The words roar from Erin’s throat at the same time the entity between her fingers gasped and split in half from head to thrashing tail with a wet sucking sound, deionizing in a shower of ectoplasm.

Erin hardly felt the splash of cold, green goo soaking her front. She was breathing too hard to notice. Breathing and grinning, eyes closed like looking into the sun for the first time in days. Relief. God, was there a better word for it? It flooded her, washing the dust from her veins and reinvigorating her from the inside out. Sharper, clearer, stronger, faster. It’s like electricity to her nervous system, shocking her back to life.

Life which catches up to her when she hears the shuffle of feet behind her accompanied by a worried, “Erin, girl, was that you screaming? I thought you said you were on the third floor.”

Shit… _shit!_

Erin didn’t need to look at her reflection to know what she looked like. She could feel the change taking place—PKE spreading through her one molecule at a time—and panicked. If the girls found her ionized there would be questions. Ones she didn’t want to answer. Not now. Not if she could help it. There were too many variables to consider.

Erin blinked and felt something shift inside her. She blinked again and the rage was gone—turning its face away from her like the sun hidden behind a cloudbank—but it left behind a dreadful two-part clarity. One, she was incredibly ionized outside the firehouse with no visible ecto-object on her person. Two, she’d just deionized a ghost with her bare hands. Half of her wanted to scream. The other half wanted to whoop and pound her chest because _goddamn_ did she feel good.

“Babydoll,” Patty edged closer. “You okay?”

“Yes…no? I um…s-something happened.” Erin felt the burn of Patty’s scrutiny from where she stood, the woman barely five feet from her. Panic set in, taking the brief euphoria with it. If she was ionized and Patty saw…It came down to two probabilities: either Erin came clean about what happened and why she was ionized or she didn’t. And if she didn’t…what did she tell her friends? The internal war fragmented her attention, drawing her into struggling silence.

“Erin…baby…I need you to turn around for me.”

“It…” Erin waffled, the cogs in her mind spinning at light speed. Stuck between a rock and a hard place, how was she going to get out of this? “It wasn’t…”

The physicist felt the tip of Patty’s gun brush her shoulder blades and stiffened. “Erin…please turn around.”

"It wasn’t a ghost. It was a mimic,” she began to babble in a hoarse whisper. “It all happened so fast. It charged me, bounced off my ghost-be-gone.” She patted the device. “And I just started shooting. It threw me against the wall. Didn’t get a chance to trap it. It was purely reactive. I just kept shooting…”

“Erin,” Patty put an edge to her voice. “Turn around.”

Slowly, Erin turned, arms out so the slimy strands could plop wetly to the floor like oversized snot balls. Slimings were her curse and this one was particularly nasty because there wasn’t just slime coating her. There were prominent swatches of rusty crimson swirled in there too.

“Shit! Erin, is this blood?”

"It’s not mine, Patty,” Erin shook, pulling at her jumpsuit and staring at her hands. “It’s not mine! It was hers. It’s not mine; _it’s not mine_!”

"Honey, calm down. Talk slowly. What happened?”

“Mimic,” Erin stuttered, attempting to clear the bloody slime from her body but only smearing it further. She tasted iron in her mouth along with ozone and rot, making her gag. “Found an old lady in her apartment. It…it wore her like a skin suit. Got the jump on me. I…Patty I…”

Erin had to turn suddenly or risk vomiting all over Patty’s boots. Hands braced against the wall, she voided her rolling bowels all over the apartment’s cheap carpet.

“Guys, I’m on the third floor with Erin,” Patty said into her walkie-talkie, helping Erin sag to the floor after she’d started dry heaving. “We’ve got a situation. Possible pedestrian casualty.”

"Oh dear god,” Abby’s breathless voice came from the other line. “What happened?”

"Just get up here.” Turning her attention back onto Erin, Patty asked, “Baby, you’re gonna be okay, but I need to ask. Why you got them creepy eyes again?”

“Sh-shot the mimic at close range,” the brunette managed after clearing vomit and slime from her mouth with the underside of her arm. “I th-think I’m reacting to the ectoplasm from when it exploded. Don’t know what happened. Don’t think I’ve ever reacted like this.”

There was no going back now. She was committed. The others couldn’t know.

“Might be because you’ve been attached to that coin of yours too long,” Patty theorized, taking a seat next to the shaking woman. “That’s not important right now. I need you to tell me what happened.”

The physicist opened her mouth to explain when someone shouted her name from down the hall. Holtz all but flew the distance from the stairwell to her seated girlfriend, eyes huge and frantic behind her yellow specs.

“What happened?! Are you okay? Jesus, is this—“

“It’s not mine,” Erin repeated. “It’s the old lady’s…”

“What old lady?” Abby panted, coming to a stop beside Holtz and squatting down.

Erin pointed over Holtz’s shoulder by way of explanation. What was left of the woman’s body—the mimic combined with the power of Erin’s proton gun had destroyed most of it—lay partially inside the doorway. The only way to tell the pulp had been human once was a single leftover hand frozen in a clawed state beside what looked like a piece of scalp with ear and hair still attached.

"It didn’t hurt you?” Holtz redirected her attention back onto Erin, forcing herself not to get sick. Blood and gore had never bothered her but seeing something like that was taxing. Abby wasn’t fairing much better, already paler than a sheet. Holtz pulled out a clean rag from her back pocket and quickly went to work clearing slim from Erin’s face.

Erin shook her head between swipes, refusing to raise her eyes. It wasn’t like they couldn’t see the white creeping into her hair or the lack of color to her eyebrows, but she wasn’t ready to face this head on. Not until she got her story straight. “It tried, but I…kept shooting. Even when…when it used the old lady as a shield. I…I’m so sorry. _I’m so sorry!_ ”

"Is the—um,” Abby swallowed her gorge back down, turning away from the grizzly scene. “Is the entity gone?”

By way of explanation, Erin slightly raised her slim-encrusted arms and met Abby with her white eyes. The researcher’s jaw clenched.

"She’s reacting to the ectoplasm,” Patty supplied, seeing the dark look growing in Abby’s green eyes.

"You don’t have a coin on you?”

Erin shook her head, dropping her gaze but not before shooting Holtz a pained look. “You can scan me if you want. I don’t have anything. I keep my promises.”

“Okay…okay this is…yeah this isn’t good. I need to…call this in. The police need to know about the tenant in this apartment. Um, Holtz, can you—yeah can you get Erin back to Ecto-1? Patty, I’m going to need you here.”

"Shouldn’t Erin stay here and give a statement?” the Historian frowned.

"What’s going to guarantee her a cell, the white eyes or the blood on her body?” Abby asked, gesturing at her best friend.

"Right, yeah. Good point.”

"You okay to stand?” Holtz asked to which Erin nodded. Together, they found their wobbling feet, Erin leaning heavily on her girlfriend and allowing herself to be led out to the car. Thankfully, Patty had parked behind the building, ensuring curious onlookers wouldn’t get a shot of the ‘busters leaving the building with Erin in such a state.

"Abby’s going kill me. God, Holtz, what am I going to do?”

"Don’t worry your slimy head. Abby’s not gonna be anything but worried.”

“I’m ionized.”

“Not your fault. Can’t help what happens when facing down nasties like the one here today. I’m just glad you’re safe and sound, my little glow bug.”

Erin couldn’t help smiling faintly. Holtz was too good for her, that was a fact.

“Let’s get you home before people think Halloween’s pulled a Jesus and come again.”

It took quite a while for Abby and Patty to finish with the police and the apartment manager. Obviously, the first three floors were now an active crime scene, but Abby reassured both parties the entity had been removed. There wasn’t mention of one of their own involved with the death of the elderly lady in apartment 32. The police had no reason to suspect otherwise, therefore the matter was dropped and the four were released.

The drive back to the firehouse was a quiet one. Most of the slime on Erin had begun to dry and turn ravenously itchy, but she didn’t complain. Head down, she spent the majority of the ride staring at her hands. It was only when they hit minor traffic and the tension became too much that their resident comedian attempted to lighten the mood.

“I’ve got a new nickname for you, Gilbert. Ghost Girl doesn’t quite cut it now. I was thinking you’re more of a beautiful Living Dead Girl.”

Lifting her head and staring with eyes still white and pricked with a single black pupil, Erin recoiled, expression caught between confusion and amusement. “Was that a Rob Zombie reference?”

Holtz’s brow lifted some. “I’m surprised you know who that is.”

Erin deadpans, an expression unnervingly eerie in this state. “Believe it or not, I do know something about pop culture. He’s my age, anyway.”

“That’s on account I dragged you to a few of his concerts back in the day,” Abby supplied from the front passenger seat, glancing back at the two.

“Erin? A concert girl? No, not our tweed-loving, tiny bow ties physicist!” Holtzmann gasps, grabbing at the front of her shirt and giving Erin a squinted look. “Who are you and what have you done with the love of my life?”

“Don’t let her fool you, Holtz. Erin’s good at hiding her wild side.”

The look Erin shot Abby was cutting, almost suspicious, but her reply was light. “What you see with me is what you get.”

Abby made a show of sniffing around the cabin and wrinkling her nose like she’d just caught a whiff of something foul. “Anyone else smell bullshit?”

The brunette responded with a raised middle finger before returning her attention back onto Holtz. “So…Living Dead Girl?”

"I think it fits with your new look. Very _Night of the Living Dead_.”

"Did you just liken me to a zombie?”

It’s Holtz’s turn to draw back, lips pursed in thoughts. “Yes. Yes, I did. And I’ll have you know, even if you’re a rotting corpse, you’re still one hell of a hottie. I’d tap that.” Her wink wakes a predatory grin from the physicist that makes the smaller woman shift slightly in her seat.

"So does that mean we’ve graduated from spooks to zombies and now necrophilia? Holtz, honey, I think we need to have a talk.”

"Okay, I’m drawing the line at sleeping with dead people. Huh-uh. Nope. This conversation has officially ended,” Patty said, giving them both a pointed look in the rearview as the hearse coasted into the firehouse garage and the Historian kills the engine.

"I guess I shouldn’t tell you all about the time I was in this graveyard back in high school—“

"Do not!” Patty spoke over Holtzmann, kicking open her door. “Wherever that train of thought was leading, you stop it right here and help me get these packs out. Erin, for the love of God, go shower. You’re making me itch just looking at your sorry ass.”

"Thanks for that, Patty,” Erin sighs, sliding out of the back seat and trying to ignore how every move made her stuff jumpsuit crinkle, dried slime flaking off like tinted dandruff.

"You know I love yah,” Patty blew the physicist a kiss, cheeks bunched in a smile.

“Patty’s right. Go get cleaned up. We’ll figure out what to do about your ionization later.”

Erin stopped and turned, confusion clear on her face. “It’ll fade. It always does. Not much to do but wait it out.”

Abby stood up from the trunk, proton pack in hand, and spoke as she walked the device to its place on the garage wall. “It will, but if this is a new development in whatever it is that’s happening to us, we need to talk about it. Neither of us can afford to become ionized on a bust. Been there. Done that. Don’t want a repeat, but it happened again tonight without you having an object on you. If you’ve become sensitive to ectoplasm, that poses a problem, seeing as you’re a magnet for it.”

“I might be able to help,” Holtz chimed in happily, fidgeting with a few loose wires on Patty’s pack. “I’ve been thinking about repellent properties for PKE. Given enough time, I think I might be able to come up with something that will keep you both from ionizing around it. Just have to get the math right, but then again, that’s what my beautiful girlfriend is for.”

Holtz threw a thousand watt grin at Erin, which the brunette returned with half the gusto of her partner. “Right. Yes, happy to help. I’m going…to go get cleaned up.”

“You do that, and I’ll fix us all something to eat. And drink. Maybe more drink than anything,” the Historian says, puffing out her cheeks.

“Vodka dinner? I’m fucking game,” Abby joins in with a hearty laugh.

Erin left the three to their work, hurrying to the second floor after leaving her jumpsuit in the laundry room, swinging by her bedroom for a change of clothes before shutting herself in the bathroom and locking the door. The instant isolation lifted a weight off her chest.

The room was dark—Erin neglected to turn on the lights—but she could see clear enough, white eyes like beacons that drew her attention to the mirror. Slowly, the tall woman eased away from the door with a slinky roll of her shoulders that realigned her spine in a series of faint cracks.

Approaching the mirror and gripping the counter edge, Erin examined the strange creature looking back at her, canting her head as she did. White eyebrows. White hair down to the tops of her ears. White eyes. Phosphorescent blue shining between the seams of her teeth. Oh, she was a sight. Frightening, almost. Dangerous, most definitely.

_“I think I might be able to come up with something that will keep you both from ionizing.”_

Erin’s reflection frowns. She bites into her bottom lip and exhales sharply through her nose, unable to stop Holtz’s comment from tumbling around her in mind. It was a good idea, no doubt. A smart one. Precautions needed to be made. Steps needed to be taken. She couldn’t ionize on busts and risk getting caught…

Erin’s frown becomes a scowl. No, that wasn’t what she wanted. She was a grown woman with free agency, which she would keep come hell or high water. Even if it meant hiding.

Sobering, the physicist leaned into her reflection, scrutinizing it. Searching for something she couldn’t yet put a name to, groping for a fleeting feeling that brushed against her consciousness like the feather-light wings of a skittish butterfly. There one second. Gone the next.

Searching. Searching. Searching…There!

A sense. A feeling. A sudden awareness that hadn’t existed before she’d touched the mimic. Erin gripped the sensation tightly—her own fingers digging into the linoleum with white-knuckle purpose—and _pulls._ If she had to explain the feeling taking place within her, she would describe it like sucking water through a narrow straw and condensing it into a tight, undulating ball located directly behind her sternum. Cold. Unbelievably cold, but welcome. Like mistakenly discovering a missing puzzle piece.

In the mirror, Erin watched with a triumphant smirk as her natural blue irises overtook the ionized white. She held that position, that mask, for a moment, experimenting. After all, what kind of scientist would she be if she didn’t experiment a little? One blink: nothing happens. Another blink: the white returns to her eyes with force, shining brightly in the dark.

Pressing her forehead against the cool glass, the physicist closed her eyes, sucked in a breath deep enough to strain her ribs, and finally let the pent-up giggles out of her system. One right after the other, they rolled from deep within her chest like surfacing bubbles. Biting into her knuckle, Erin stifled the loudest of them, slipping back into the cloud of euphoria she’d been fighting off since Patty found her in the hallway.

“You’re your own clap-on lamp, Gilbert,” she snickers. Then the smile widens into something far more predatory and sharp. Her right hand slaps the glass next to her face as the brunette grinds her forehead against the mirror, teeth gritted. “Nothing to hide here. Nothing but hide here.”

This would do. This would do _nicely_. Turning on the water, Erin flicked on the light for no other purpose other than it was a habit and stepped into the shower, mind already racing with new possibilities. She would follow this thread of discovery. It wasn’t every day someone stumbled upon the ability to reach out and physically touch supernatural entities. And oh, they had quite a few containment units with plenty of specimens to use downstairs…

Twenty minutes and a hearty scrubbing later, the brunette emerged clean and glow free from the bathroom, toweling off her damp hair. From downstairs, she could smell Patty’s dinner cooking and heard her colleagues laugh, the sound carrying through the levels. It made her smile by proxy. Everything felt like it was coming together. The frayed edges of her world, the fear of the unknown, the anxiety, all gone from her system. For the first time, Erin could breathe the clean, fresh air of hope and prospect.  

So it came as little surprise she found herself awake hours after her exhausted colleagues retired. Patty had gone home, but Abby didn’t have the energy to call a cab or catch a late night train. She’d shuffled off to her room on the third floor, more than a little drunk and happy for it. They all had been more than a little drunk that night. Well, that was only partly true. Erin wasn’t a lightweight when it came to holding her liquor. Wine was her preference, and she’d consumed more than usual tonight…only the effects of blurring intoxication hadn’t found traction in the woman. A byproduct of the PKE, she theorized with shocked bemusement when her fifth glass of wine didn’t even elicit a buzz. So Erin had let her colleagues drink their fill. Played along. Acted the part of the drunk girlfriend as she helped Holtz to bed and left her sleeping with a sloppy kiss before heading into the engineer’s lab, an idea in mind.

Standing at her whiteboard, the physicist inspected her most recent string of numbers, trying to keep her mind on task, ecto-coin a blue blur across her knuckles. Her hand swept through her hair, pushing back her bangs. She checks the numbers again, hypothesis spelled out in the unforgiving light of cold, hard mathematics. Oh, she would erase them soon. After all, these numbers were for her eyes only, but she needed to be sure…

Those same eyes flick to a containment unit resting on the table next to her. Bagged and tagged, the entity within was a lowly Class 2. Or had been. A fresh catch from earlier that month. Well…not so fresh anymore. And probably not a Class 2 either. Could entities recover their PKE under containment? A question for another time.

The entity lasted eight seconds under her touch. Erin wouldn’t risk more. She had to do the math. There were too many places where this type of research could go wrong.

Erin rolled her shoulders and snapped her head to the side with a pop before returning to her numbers. Her hands shake. She’s overstimulated, she knows. Could still feel the fresh buzz under her skin. It made it hard to concentrate. Like Redbull in her veins. Made her jittery. Made her want to move. Made her crave another rush.

Made her reckless…

Reckless. What a lovely word. Growing up, it had never been _her_ word. Not like this. This was an antsy kind of reckless, the kind people contract like an itch they couldn’t scratch. Where skydiving or base jumping is the only way to relieve the strain. Erin wasn’t interested in either of those. No, no, that was too planned. Too easy.  

She needed spontaneity. She needed to share this feeling. To pass it on. Luminescent eyes drift to the ceiling, an idea forming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a whole lot of fun to write, and I'm not speaking sarcastically. THIS is what I've been waiting to write since starting this fic XD We're finally getting to my favorite scenes, and Erin's gearing up for a fall.
> 
> Reviews literally help me write faster and let me know how I'm doing. Please and thank you!


	16. Coins and Cars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now we get to the point in the story where I can start sharing the songs that helped write the chapter
> 
>  [Light Up the Sky](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cbP4KwTDtFg)

Blinking, Erin found herself standing in a doorway. Her ecto-coin was gone, hidden away inside the cup of her bra, positioned snugly against her warm skin. Blue eyes tracked over her girlfriend’s sleeping form, linger over the gentle rise and fall of her chest. Holtz shifted with a snort in her sleep, muttering incoherently into the pillows. Erin bit her lip. Tonight she was feeling a special kind of playful, the kind that rarely overtook her but when it did it usually took the two lovers by storm.          

Slinking into the room with all the grace of a prowling puma, Erin shed her clothes and crawled up the length of the bed from the end, pulling the covers away as she did. Holtz sleepily disapproved of the cool draft, groping for warmth.

In the dim light of the city below, Erin marveled at the quiet beauty of her nearly naked lover. Clad only in a loose pair of boxers, Holtz’s pale skin looked like velvety satin, her messy bedhead framing her face like a frizzy halo. Slender legs shifted against the sheets when the woman moved again, drawing Erin’s gaze to a point of origin.

Yes, there would be a good place to begin.

She started slow. Gentle kisses to the blonde’s calves, to the sides of her knee, to the top and inside of her thigh. A steady motion up, up, up, tongue darting out to draw little details. As she worked, the engineer stirred—moaning lightly through her nose—but it was Erin’s cool fingers drawing her boxers aside and the sensation of her tongue slipping softly into Holtz’s core that brought the woman awake with a gasp.

“Erin?” Holtz slurred in confusion before the sensation of the cool muscle retreating and tracing patterns against the inside of her thigh had her flopping back with a soft groan. “Baby, what’ya doin?”

“I guess you could say I got a little hungry,” Erin purred, trailing her fingertips along Holtz’s hips, making her squirm. Hooking the elastic of her waistband with a finger, she traced Holtz’s bikini line with little kisses, nipping and sucking as she went, making the smaller woman quiver.

“We…just a-ate, baby.” There’s a lazy smile on her lips. Playful. Teasing. Erin soaks it in. This was one of Jillian’s biggest turn-ons, and she loved it.

“I want seconds,” Erin crooned, lifting herself with her elbows and kissing just under Holtzmann’s bellybutton. “Maybe thirds.” She keeps going, listening to Holtz’s breath hitch, the bend in her spine bringing her off the mattress. “Maybe I’m in the mood for something savory and Jillian-flavored.”

Holtz bucks with a ragged gasp when Erin’s tongue slips between her cleft, brushing briefly—teasingly—against the tip of her clit. If her legs hadn’t fallen open yet they certainly did now, her hands fisting the pillows above her head. Erin’s tongue felt lukewarm, leaving her feverish skin tingling like Erin had chewed mint gum before proceeding.

Erin knew how much to probe and how much to take before the younger woman was putty in her hands, ripe for disassembly. Tonight, it wasn’t her tongue she wanted to satisfy with. That was the precursor. When Holtz finally reached a point of wetness that left Erin’s chin soaked in arousal, the physicist pulled away and replaced tongue with fingers, repositioning herself so she was kneeling beside Holtz’s right hip. The angle was purposeful, a wicked grin splitting her face.

“Fuck…” Holtz gasped, eyes flying open when her girlfriend’s fingers curled hard and high, squeezing the breath from her lungs. “Erin… _Jesus._ ”

“I like when you invoke my name like a deity,” she hums. Erin didn’t let Jillian think or speak further. Didn’t let her breathe. In a swift push, her index and middle finger slide from their teasing at Holtz’s entrance all the way to her knuckles and curl high. Holtz reacts like it was a physical impact, arching with a loud moan that’s swallowed by Erin's lips. Her tongue probes Holtz’s mouth with purpose, firm and smooth and deliciously cool. The engineer drank her in, head buzzing from either lack of air or the alcohol still in her blood. When they finally separate she’s panting and flushed and blessedly riding cloud nine, the world in a haze.

They only disconnect long enough to suck in a few needed breaths before Erin’s lips are against her again. There’s a force to her kissing tonight and robs the smaller woman of her usual spunk. Fog fills Holtz’s body, spreading thick in her veins, making the earth tilt, her mind swim, and her vision brighten. Has she ever felt this fucking good because  _Jesus_  Erin was filling every inch of her she could hardly breathe.

Retreating south, Erin left a trail of menthol-laced kisses down Holtz’s torso before settles on the woman’s thigh directly in front of her. Bending across her partner provided the exact kind of leverage she needed. Holtz would call this a rough fucking. Fast and dirty and just on the fair side of primal. If that notion alone wasn’t enough to send her over the edge the sudden addition of a third finger stretching her wide suddenly lights the fog building in her like a combustible gas.

Her orgasm hits her like a freight train. She would have come off the mattress had Erin not had ahold of her hips, pumping her fingers in a steadily slowing rhythm, drawing every last shudder out.

Holtz is breathless and boneless under the taller woman, but she’s not spent. Not by a long shot. Staring up at Erin through hooded eyes, chest heaving, there’s a sharp kind of energy soaking into her muscles that translates into a coil and release kind of motion. Erin provided the coil, now Holtzmann was releasing like an arrow fired from a compound bow.

Rolling onto her side with a growl, Holtz’s strong right arm snaked around the kneeling woman’s thigh while the left sought and found the break between her legs. There wasn’t a doubt in her mind Erin would be wet, and her fingers slide home with savage purpose, making the physicist gasp and fall forward, the two making a plus-sign on the bed.

Erin was teasing but Holtz is merciless. She begins with her thumb in hard circles, the digit hitting raised ridges with each sweep, while her tongue drags along the seam of Erin’s thigh. Erin can barely hold on and rocks back onto her knees, rolling her hips in a desperate effort to build more friction, a smile on her face. There’s no allowance for that, Holtz making it clear with a bite to Erin’s hip she’d have to wait before satisfaction was given.  

“Holtz…please,” she sucks in, trying to make a move to stroke her own clit but finding her hand batted away. She bites her lip to stifle a giggle and cracks open an eye, catching Holtz’s scorching stare up at her.

“Do that again,” the engineer rumbles, sucking at the skin near the bite she left.

“What?”

“Beg.”

“Jill, please… _please_!”

Reaching out, Holtz grabbed and guided Erin’s fingers to the top of her hardened clit at the same time she withdraws her thumb and pushed three fingers home. The shock of the stretch and the warmth of the burn brings Erin forward again overtop her girlfriend, her moan trapped against the blonde’s shoulder. One arm supporting her weight while the other stroked in hard circles, it wasn’t but another few seconds before the coiled heat building in Erin's pelvis snapped under the pressure and left her screaming.

Their fall back to earth was a gentler one than their trip into the stratosphere. Holtz carefully removed her fingers and cleans them on her pants, guiding Erin onto her side where she can kiss the sweating woman. But like Holtz, Erin is far from spent. Far from done. Far from anything, actually.

“I want to go out,” Erin whispers into Holtz’s ear, an edge to her voice suggesting a sly smile. She flicks the lobe playfully.

“We go out all the time,” Holtz rumbled, kissing down Erin’s neck, seeking the junction where her neck and shoulder met. That was her favorite spot. She’d hunker there like a vampire, working a livid bruise with teeth and tongue.

“No, I want to go out now.” Erin leans back, capturing Jillian’s eyes with her own. They were bright tonight. Almost glowing. Holtz can’t bring herself to look away, content with the haze working through her body and the buzz under her skin. “Let’s do something different. Let’s paint the town red. You and me. I want to feel  _excitement_ , Jill. Take me for a ride.”

A pause. Calculation. Sum achieved.

The smile that grows on Holtzmann’s face is slow, but very quickly there’s a thousand watts of mischief grinning at Erin. Rising on her knees like an ocean wave connecting with a cliff wall, Holtz draws Erin sharply against her until their stomachs touch and they share the same breath.

“Wanna do something wild?”

“That was the plan.”

“Kevin’s bike’s in the garage.” It wasn’t a suggestion. More of a statement. A fact, tinted with the barest hint of a question.

Erin giggles, nuzzling into her girlfriend’s neck and giving her ass a firm squeeze. “Come on baby, light my fire.”

“You playing with matches is gonna get you burned, Gilbert.”

“What if I like the heat?” Erin says, trailing her hands along Holtz’s stomach. “What if I want the burn?”

By way of answer, Holtz growls low in her throat and brings their lips crashing together before jumping off the bed and taking Erin with her. They dress quickly, neither far from the other. Hand in hand and snickering like teenagers sneaking out for the first time, the two scramble as quietly as they could for the garage. Holtz doesn’t bother opening the door. It would be too noisy. Too easy for someone to hear. And Kevin’s bike was small, a perfect fit through the side door.

It wasn’t like Holtz was an expert on sneaking out. No. Never that. She’d not perfected the art of mischievous stealth that turned her footsteps into whispers and her body into a shadow. Erin followed along as quickly as possible. She wasn’t as stealthy, but she could learn. And learn she did.

Carefully securing the door behind them, Holtz wheeled the dirt bike into the street and walked it down the block so her revving the engine wouldn’t alert anyone to their whereabouts. It was crazy and probably overkill. Hopping onto the worn seat—loose suspension making the bike bounce-- Holtz kick-started the bike, revving the engine until it roared throatily.

“Hop on, pretty mama,” the engineer grinned, nodding to the open seat behind her. It was a tight fit, but they would make it work.

“Thought you’d never ask,” Erin laughed, swinging her long legs over the bike and wrapping her arms snugly around Holtz’s waist.

“Any place catch your fancy?”

“Not at all.”

“In that case, guess we’re taking the scenic route. Hang on!” Freeing the break and revving the throttle, the bike took off like a shot. 

New York was a bustling city regardless of the time, famously living up to its reputation of being the city that never slept. Though the traffic was lighter than normal at this hour, it still existed…well, to some extent anyway.

The dirt bike threaded nimbly through the streets, but at a safe speed. A legal speed. A speed that didn’t exactly inspire the desired thrill.

“Holtz,” Erin whispered into her girlfriend’s ear, and despite the noise of the bike, the blonde heard her as clearly as if they were standing in a quiet room. The brunette shifted forward more, hands splayed out against the engineer’s torso. “I want to feel speed. Let’s have some fun.”

“You sure?”

“Sweetheart,” Erin crooned, nipping the blonde’s ear. “Make me breathless.”

Holtzmann shivered. It had nothing to do with the cold night air whipping her hair back off her face and stinging her cheeks and the tips of her ears. This was a deeper shudder, a carnal thrum, that pulled at something in her cells and made her head pleasantly foggy. Not so much she lost cognition, but enough to blur the lines between rationality and recklessness.

“You got it, babe,” came her gravely reply, lips parting to show the stretch of her teeth. Hunching into the wind, she twisted the throttle and felt the machine surge to life between her legs with a pleasant hum, front tire briefly lifting off the pavement. The car in front of them approached fast. Faster than it should. So fast there was no hope breaking in time, so Holtz simply skipped into the next lane, barely missing getting clipped by a delivery truck. The vehicle laid on its horn, driver shouting. His insults were lost to the roaring wind.

Holtz took the city by storm, speed in her veins pushing her faster and faster until they practically blurred through the lanes. Red lights meant nothing. Stopped traffic was hardly an obstacle. Sidewalks were as good as roads sometimes as long as it kept their momentum hard, fast, and dangerous.

Seated behind Holtz, Erin smiled into the biting wind as the city whipped by at a speed not even an ambulance had tasted. Each swift dodge or graceful weave left her stomach leaping, pulse like a jackhammer behind her sternum. It was the best kind of rush. Loosening her grip, the brunette leaned back, eyes closed and chin pointing skyward. If she caught it just right, if the bike found a straight track for long enough, it felt like she was flying.

Of course, she couldn’t help but laugh. Pure and loud and clear. The laugh of someone who knew she had the world at her fingertips. The laugh of someone who feared nothing yet the world had everything to fear.   

It was a miracle they made it through lower Manhattan without smashing themselves to pieces. At the speed they were traveling, Erin wouldn’t put it past physics and the laws of momentum to work against them at some point. Then again, she couldn’t find it in herself to honestly care.

That is until the law of a different kind kicked into effect.

They’d just swung out onto State Street when the shrill of a siren and the flash of red lights shattered the carefree joyride. It didn’t take looking in the crooked handlebar mirror to guess what was behind them. Erin felt Holtzmann sag, the bike slowing.

“Well shit, looks like this is our—“

“Lose them in the tunnel,” Erin cut in, her voice carrying over the steady rumble of the bike’s engine. Holtzmann spared a glance over her shoulder and was too preoccupied with squinting through the glare of flashing red lights to notice a different kind of light in Erin’s eyes, but she certainly heard the smile in her voice.

“What’s a little mischief? We can lose them. Let’s show them just how good you are at handling machines.” To help emphasize her point, Erin reached down and cupped Holtz’s groin, giving it a firm squeeze.   

“Oh baby, you’re  _definitely_ playing with fire,” the engineer grinned savagely, ducking low and kicking the clutch, sending the bike rocketing off again. Behind her, Erin nuzzled into her girlfriend’s shoulder, white eyes glancing back at the approaching police car.

The closest tunnel was the Hugh L. Carey, which posed a few problems. One, it was a toll. Two, it was usually fairly busy. Neither of these things mattered in the fast calculations working through Holtzmann’s brain.

Like she was attempting to film her own action movie, Holtz wove through the lanes with ease, their bike nimble enough for the challenge. The car in pursuit was not. Jumping the curb, they flew past the toll booths and the stunned attendants and headed for the tunnel at breakneck speed. Tonight the flow of vehicles was blessedly light.

Sucked into the mouth of the tunnel and enveloped in yellow and orange light, the sound of the bike was deafening, echoing off the concrete walls and coming back to them a hundred fold. Coupled with the blare of the police siren and the honking of startled motorists, it was quite a cacophonous moment. Eventually, both bike and police car pulled away from the cluster of motorists, the two locked in a battle of speed. It was a fight the ‘busters likely wouldn’t win unless they had help.

Twisting around enough she could see the shiny white and blue police car—almost making out the man behind the wheel—Erin reached into her shirt and withdrew her coin. She had a hunch. Well, more than that. She had earlier proof ecto-objects could turn corporeal in the rights hands. Good thing she had just the right kind of touch.

Brown hair whipping wildly around her face like it possessed a mind of its own and blue grin bright against the florescent lights, Erin loaded her coin onto her fingers, concentrated, and flicked it away. The burst of energy snapped her arm back. It also sent the coin flying across the short distance into the police car.

She didn’t exactly know what would happen. Would it flip? Would it stall? Would it explode? Oh, the possibilities.

There was no cinematic flip or gouty explosion. In a burst of blue energy, the car suddenly skidded to an abrupt stop, causing it to fishtail in the process when the breaks locked around the wheels and the battery was sucked dry, plunging the car into darkness. There was no whoop of triumph from Erin. Only a knowing grin and deep giggle that made her chest feel like it was full of carbonation. She turned away before there was a crunch of metal—obviously, other motorists couldn’t stop as fast—but it was hardly audible, the bike carrying the two well away from danger and eventually back into their familiar neighborhood sometime later after Holtz made sure no less than three times they weren’t being followed.

 Holtz killed the engine a block from the firehouse and dismounted, wobbling on her feet a little. The flush of her grin faltered—a crease marring her forehead—but was forgotten when Erin, giggling, looped their arms together, bumping shoulders.

“Too much vibration?” the brunette snickered, noting the dip in Holtz’s swagger.

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” the blonde winked. Together they walked the bike into the alley beside the firehouse. Holtz fumbled for her keys and took two tries to get the door unlocked, both busters failing to reenter as quietly as they’d left. All was clear on the Western Front until they entered the waiting area.

“Good of you two to join us.”

Abby sat propped against her desk, arms crossed, illuminated by a single desk lamp. Beside her stood a very tired, very irritated looking Patty, but nothing matched the thunderous cold fury in the shorter researcher’s eyes.

Out of the two of them, Erin was the fastest on the draw, beating Holtzmann to the punch. “We get a call?”

“Yeah,” Abby laughed without a trace of mirth. “We got a fucking call alright. Apparently, according to police dispatch, one of our bikes was stolen and taken on a joyride by two spooks. Cops couldn’t place the Class, but I’m guessing it’s somewhere between a 42-year-old woman who thinks she’s 16 again and a 36-year-old woman who hasn’t progressed past the age of 16.”

“I will have you know, I resent that,” Holtz pouted, tugging at the lobe of her ear uneasily. “I have the mental capacity of at least a 17-year-old.”

“Baby,” Patty admonished, not looking impressed or amused. “This ain’t the time for joking. Seriously, what the fuck, you two?”

“What the fuck back at you,” Erin quipped, looking bemused. “No point getting bent out of shape because of a joyride.”

“You are so full of shit and not half as smooth as you think,” Abby said, pushing off the desk and striding purposefully towards Erin. “Where is it?”

“Where’s—“

“Where’s your coin, Erin.”

Holtz looked quickly between the two, confusion and worry burning away the fog in her brain and letting her think straight for the first time since before dinner. “Coin? You had a coin on you?” Across the room, Patty straightens up.

“I don’t have one on me,” Erin said, staring unblinkingly back at Abby.

“Do I need to get out the PKE meter and scan you? Because god as my witness I will pull a TSA right here in this firehouse.”

Moving back a step, Erin spread her arms and gave Abby her best ‘come at me’ stance. “You of all people in this house could pat me down and find it yourself. Have at it. I don’t have any ecto-objects on me.”

“But you had one.” Erin tilted her head and looked like she might speak when Patty pressed a button on the recorder next to her and a crackly voice wavered through the speakers.

 _“Ghostbusters,”_ Abby greeted on the tape, fighting to keep the slur in her voice down.

_“Good evening. This is Dispatcher Willcoff with the NYPD. I’m calling to alert you that one of your company vehicles appears to have been stolen by two unknown assailants.”_

_“Umm…okay. I…can you hold for one moment?”_ There was a pause and the sound of shifting papers, feet on the stairs, a door opening, and a barely muffled curse.  _“Dispatcher Willcoff, can you describe the vehicle?”_

 _“The officer in pursuit described it as a white and red dirt bike bearing the plates_ Ecto-3 _. You ladies might want to respond to this once the vehicle is located. It was last seen heading out of the Hugh L. tunnel.”_

_“Um, please forgive me if I sound a little confused, but isn’t that your jurisdiction? Thefts and all.”_

_“It would be, Ma’am, if the officer who made the call hadn’t described the assailants as the spectral kind.”_

Abby paused again and when she spoke she chose her words carefully.  _“Two ghosts stole one of our cars?”_

_“Apparently so, Ma’am. The officer who pursued the vehicle was unable to maintain his chase. According to the report, something was thrown into the officer’s cruiser causing it to fishtail and stall. We have officers patrolling the city looking for the vehicle. When it’s found, we will let you know the location so you can assist in any necessary busts.”_

_“Of course, Dispatch. Thank you. Keep us up to date.”_

_“Thank you, Ma’am.”_

The tape ended there and so did the argument in the room. Three sets of eyes turned toward Erin, two hard and the third wide with disbelief.

“You…stalled a cop car?” Holtz backed away, bumping into the counter behind her and using it to brace herself. “Erin, how…”

Jaw tight and lips pressed into a hard line, something sharp passed over the brunette’s face. Her eyes flicked from person to person, calculating something privy only to Erin. At her side, her fingers twitched, itching for something to curl around.

“All we did was go out for a ride,” she began slowly.

“You’re skirting the question,” Holtz frowned. “Erin, did you use a coin to stall a cop car?”

Erin glanced back at her partner, expression softening. “I did what I had to so we wouldn’t get pulled over.”

“Oh my god,” the blond rocked back, suddenly looking smaller than she actually was. “Erin, that’s…baby, that’s a whole new level of not okay. That’s big poof level. What if you’d hit the cop inside?”

“I did what I had to,” Erin replied with an edge.

“No, baby, you did what you wanted to do,” Patty corrected, folding her arms.

“And you did it while ionized,” Abby added sharply. “And you took an ecto-object off firehouse grounds. We had a deal, Erin.”

“The deal was, I wouldn’t use or take an ecto-object off the property unsupervised.”

“Your inebriated girlfriend doesn’t count! Which raises another point! Holtzmann, what the literal fuck were you doing driving drunk?”

Holtz blanched and recoiled. She didn’t do confrontation like this. “I wasn’t…I—I was sober when I woke up. Y-you know I can’t walk a…s-straight line when drunk, Abby. I would never…”

“So you were cognitive enough you though, what, running from the police was a smart idea?”

Holtz made to answer but couldn’t thread the pieces of that evening together into a cohesive picture. She remembered feeling energized and excited but when she reached for the base reason for her actions she came up empty. There were missing numbers in her head, and that scared her more than the idea she’d been basically driving intoxicated. Why couldn’t she remember?

“It was a joy ride, Abby,” Erin cut in. “The cop was looking for someone to give a ticket to. You know they all have to reach a quota for the month, and we just happened to be there. That’s all that happened. Holtz wasn’t driving drunk. You honestly think I’d let her drive anywhere like that? Jesus, what’s wrong with you?”

“I could ask you the same damn thing!” Abby shouted back. “You’re doing a wonderful job deflecting from the fact you intentionally went out ionized and were seen by a  _police officer_! He got a good enough look at you he thought you were a  _ghost_ , so I know what you fucking looked like when you shot his car with an ecto-coin!”

“I stalled his car! It isn’t like I flipped it or made it explode!”

“How is any of that remotely reassuring?” Abby thundered. “How are you rationalizing anything you did tonight as okay?”

Between the two scientists going at each other like territorial chimps, Patty was the only one who noticed Holtzmann looked a few shades paler than normal. She was blinking rapidly, focusing hard on the chair three feet from her like she was having trouble seeing it. Red flags began raising.

“Hey, both ya’ll, shut up,” Patty barked, effectively silencing the two. They both shot dark glares she didn’t see, her eyes trained on the blonde engineer. “Holtzy? You okay girl?”

Holtzmann shook her head, the motion making her dizzy. “Guys…I don’t think—“ She would have hit the floor—and the edge of the counter on her way down—had Patty not physically shoved Erin aside and grabbed the smaller woman when she wilted.

“Whoa, small fry, I got you. What’s wrong, girl? Let us know what’s happening.” Holtzmann tried to answer, making vague gestures at her body, when her pale skin broke into a heavy sweat and she was lunging for the nearest trashcan. Both Erin and Abby moved to help, but the Historian waved them back.

“Just get it out of your system,” Patty soothed, rubbing Holtz’s sweaty back until the episode quieted.

Pushing up from the can with a pitiful groan, Holtz dragged the back of her hand across her mouth to clear away lines of saliva and vomit and frowned when her arm came away streaked in rusty red. Befuddled, she reached up and touched her nose, fingers coming away bloody.

“That’s…not normal…” she squinted, unaware the crimson streak was making its steady way towards her upper lip. Stomach lurching again, Holtz receded back into the trashcan until she was dry-heaving and gasping. Patty helped her lean back and cleared away the stomach bile from her chin, biting into her cheek when she noticed the white of Holtz’s eyes were starting to turn pink from popped capillaries.

“Come on, babygirl. Let’s get you upstairs and cleaned up. Don’t need you bleeding all over the firehouse….again.” Patty gently lifted the smaller woman and helped her along to the stairs, leaving Erin and Abby in heavy silence.

Abby’s turn away from her receding friends was slow, her stance accusatory. It took her a handful of seconds to compile her thoughts, hands opening and closing at her sides until she got the words right. “I don’t know what you did,” she began in a hushed voice, the one Erin recognized from the few times Abby was truly furious. “But it will not happen again. Do you understand me? Whatever happened to Holtz tonight  _will never happen again_.”

Erin bristled. “What, exactly, are you accusing me of?”

Abby pointed a savage finger up the stairs. “That, Erin! Whatever the fuck that was!”

“That,” Erin mimicked Abby’s rigid stance and point, “explains nothing, Abby. Use your words.”

“Oh, honey, you best roll back that attitude if you know what’s good for you,” Abby seethed.

“I give what I get,  _honey_ ,” Erin retorted coolly, making Abby’s mouth snap shut with a click of teeth. “You think I made Holtz sick?” Incredulity dripped like sap from her voice. “Seriously?”

“No. You got her high.”

The sentence hung between the two like a five-ton weight threatening to drag them both to the center of the earth. Erin didn’t move but neither did Abby. This was a chess match and not their first. Erin was eventually the first to set her players on the board.

“Explain.”

“You don’t deserve an explanation after the shit you pulled.”

“I do if you’re accusing me of drugging my girlfriend!”

Abby’s nose scrunched against the hard breath she pushed out of it. “I’ve known Holtzmann longer than you, Erin. Shocker of shockers, but we were friends long before you came back into the picture. I’ve seen that woman in so many stages. I’ve seen her drunk. I’ve seen her sober. I’ve seen her buzzed. I’ve seen her tripping balls, and I’ve seen her get sick because of it. I know how much we all drank last night. I know it wasn’t enough to do  _that_  to Holtzmann. The amount of liquor she’d need in her system to puke like that would be enough to shut down her liver, yet here we are at the firehouse rather than a hospital room. How odd! I know for a fact you don’t smoke, and I know Holtz doesn’t smoke around you, so I can deduce since I’m a fucking scientist, that whatever just happened, whatever reaction she just had, had nothing to do with Holtz and everything to do with you.”

“And since you are such an astute scientist, you will be able to tell me, in detail, what it is you think I’ve done,” Erin replied acridly. “Because as far as I can tell, nothing was amiss when we went out. All we did was have a little fun around the city.”

“You call being chased by police ‘fun around the city’!?”

“I call it none of your damn business what we do.”

“It’s my fucking business when you two sneak out with licensed vehicles with our logo on it and become involved in a police chase that ends with the police calling us to a possible bust because you decided to throwing a goddamn ecto-coin into the grill of a cruiser because you didn’t want to get caught speeding!”

Abby turned away before Erin could retort, raking her hands through her unbound hair that fell in messy curls around her shoulders. When she snapped back around, the wet emotion she’d displayed was gone, replaced with something far more rigid and authoritative.

“You’re done. You broke the ultimatum, therefore you’re done with PKE research. Effective tomorrow, all ecto-objects in this firehouse will be deionized.”

“You don’t have the authority to make that call.”

Abby froze in the kitchen doorway, hands braced on either side of the lintel. “I do, actually.”

“No. You don’t.” There wasn’t a challenge in Erin’s voice. It was a statement. A finality. A period at the end of a sentence that promised something dark if demands were not met.

When Abby shifted back around for the third time that night she felt the hairs on the back of her neck prickle. Erin looked the same, but the researcher felt a sense of wrongness in the air, the same feeling she got when a malevolent entity was nearby but hiding. If she focused long enough, the fluorescent lights appeared muted around the taller woman like something was sucking the energy from the room. The longer Abby stared the stronger the ‘shark looking at you from the other side of a dive cage’ feeling became.

Something was horribly, terribly wrong,  but without any equipment on hand and Erin showing no signs of ionization, Abby’s gut warred with what she saw. Never one to back down from a fight, the researcher turned and assumed a stance just as challenging as the ramrod rigidity keeping Erin’s spine locked. Hands planting on her hips, Abby filled the doorway, green eyes finding blue and remaining there.

“Let me break this down for you, Erin. And I’ll make it bite-sized so you can swallow it easier. I founded this team long before you stormed into my lab back at Higgins. It was just Holtz and me for years before it became the four of us. My name is the first on the lease of this place. I am the spokesperson. I am the one who handles the finances. I am the one who speaks directly to Jennifer Lynch should she call, and I am the one who works directly with the Mayor in regards to funding, licensing and contracts. So yes, that makes me the unofficial official leader of this research party, so when I say you’re done  _you are done_. And if you don’t like that, you can remove yourself from this team.

“And let me make something else crystal clear. Not only did you steal from us—from your job and your colleagues— you put the lives of yourself, Holtzmann, and a police officer at risk for nothing more than a joyride, and you have the audacity to stand in front of me and lie about it. By right, I  _should_  kick you off the team. You fucked up, Erin. Fucked up royally, so don’t push me tonight. The best thing you can do is go home and clear your head. Get away from the firehouse. Think about your priorities and then come back tomorrow with your answer.”

Erin’s head tilted. It wasn’t a gesture born of curiosity. “You’re kicking me out?”

“For tonight, that is exactly what I’m doing.”

“This is my home.”

“You have an apartment.”

“This is my research.”

“Not anymore it’s not.”

Abby expected to see anger. Erin wasn’t exactly a pro at hiding her emotions, but what she didn’t expect was a complete one-eighty. Abby blinked and Erin’s entire dementor—once flushed and filled with warring conflict—took on the consistency of lake ice. Smooth. Flawless.  _Cold_. Suddenly, she was Teflon, sticky human emotions sluffing off like so much wasted baggage. Erin looked carved from marble. No, she was carved from ice, and the only point on her person that held any kind of savage life resided in the burn of her blue eyes.

“You may think you have that kind of authority, Abby, but this team is not a monarchy, and I don’t recall ever electing a leader. Nor do I recall ever giving you permission to hold my research ransom. We all have free agency to do what we wish with whatever research we wish, as dictated by the Mayor five years ago, and I will not be put into a restrictive chokehold due to your cowardice. So let me make something clear since we’re clearing the air. I will not be threatened. I will not be controlled. I will not be treated like a child. What I research is my prerogative, and you will not keep me from it, nor will you keep me from my home.”

  “You seem to think you have a choice in the matter, Erin. You either leave under your own volition, or I will throw you out.”

“You don’t have the balls.” Erin took a step towards Abby, only one, but the air pressure in the room dropped.

“No, but I do.” Patty rounded the corner, looking like a dark-skinned incarnation of a thunder god. “And I think between the two of us, your skinny ass would know what it feels like to defy gravity. Abby’s right, Erin. You’re not right in the head right now. Go home. Sleep whatever this is off, but you  _will_ go home.”

 Where there was one now there were two. Not good odds. Not  _winning_  odds.

“Fine,” Erin relented after a beat of silence. The cold wasn’t nearly as blistering now, warmed some by the flush of defeat.

“I’ll get your coat and purse and call a—“

“Don’t bother,” Erin snarled, snatching her extra set of keys hanging on the ring by the door.

“You’re not walking home at this hour, Erin.”

Already out in the alley with the door wide open behind her, the brunette turned in the shadows, voice dripping scorn. “Try and stop me.”

Neither woman moved to face the challenge. After a moment, Erin’s footfalls disappeared and the kitchen grew brighter again, the once hampered florescence buzzing back to full capacity.

“What the actual fuck was all that about?” Patty exhaled, puffing her cheeks.

“A problem,” Abby muttered, trying to ignore the shake in her hands and the cold sweat beading along her hairline. “A big problem.”

“That was some Jekyll and Hyde shit, goddamn.”

“Patty, I’m gonna need your help. You and I are going to round up every ecto-object in this firehouse and dump them. Every last one.”

“Hell, you got it, babygirl. Don’t need to tell me twice.”

Sixteen canisters in total were rounded up and hauled into the alley. Abby searched as thoroughly as possible, combing through Holtzmann’s lab and evening going so far as lightly searching Erin and Holtz’s room, tiptoeing around the sleeping blonde who looked like she was fighting off a serious case of the flu. Sweaty and pale, the engineer didn’t stir when Abby gently pulled up the sheet and cleared damp strands of hair out of Holtz’s face, smiling sadly at her best friend when she left.

Outside, the alley came to life in shades of eerie green and blue as the ecto-objects were poured onto the concrete and left to deionize. Abby watched grimly from her place by the dumpster until every last object winked out of existence.

 

I have awesome friends who commissioned awesomely creepy art for this chapter. Enjoy =3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Erin learned a new trick, and Abby just pissed her off. This isn't going to end well. Nope (winces)
> 
> Reviews literally make me write faster and let me know how I'm doing. Please and thank you =)


	17. Something in the air

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all! So sorry for taking this long to update. Life's been crazy, but good news! This chapter is a two parter. I wanted to get you guys the first part now. I'll upload the second half no later than Sunday, job permitting. So hang on tight. We're gonna get wild.

Holtzmann woke the next morning feeling like she’d had a fifth of tequila and a kick to the head with a steel-toed boot. She groaned into her pillow, stale sweat and drool making the cotton stick to her face when she attempted to lift her head. Pain exploded brilliantly behind her eyes, making her see fireworks. Nope, that wasn’t going to happen.

God, everything throbbed. Her pulse felt like it had manifested into a jackhammer going to town on her veins and arteries. Her muscles were led. Her blood acid. Her head a bell stuffed with cotton.

“Freddie Mercury, if you can hear my prayers, please let me join you in the rock and roll promise land,” she whined, rolling onto her back and throwing an arm over her eyes to help block out the sun.

"God you’re dramatic when you’re hungover.”

Holtz attempted and failed to lift her head. “Unless you have morphine, I don’t want anything.”

Abby rolled her eyes and set the tray in her hands down on the dresser. “Good morning to you too.”

“It’s morning?” the engineer whined unhappily.

“Morning somewhere. It’s actually 2. You’ve been asleep most of the day.”

“I wanna go back to dreamland.”

“At least drink some water and eat a little before you sail off again.”

Holtz grunted in agreement and allowed Abby to pass her a glass of water, some much-needed Advil, and a few pieces of toast which she devoured quite readily. Shockingly, her stomach wasn’t in knots like it usually was.

“Glad to see you back in the land of the living,” Abby smiled warmly, moving some of Holtzmann’s hair out of her face.

“I feel like a zombie.”

“Look like one too. Might need to take your pulse at some point.”

“I give you full permission to touch,” Holtz winked, characteristic flirtation coming back the more she woke up. “Roughhousing might have to wait for a bit.”

“Aww shit, and here I wanted to suplex you.”

“Tough shit, tootsie,” she said around a mouthful of toast.

“I guess asking how you’re feeling would be redundant?”

“Pretty much, yeah.” Holtz chased her meal with a few swallows of water before settling back against her pillows, a wave of exhaustion creeping up on her. Digging at her eyes with the heel of her palm, she looked around, noticing the absence her foggy brain had neglected to catch until now.

Abby could guess the question on the engineer’s face before it even left her mouth. “I sent Erin home last night.”

Blue eyes met green, confusion dominating the engineer’s expression. “Home?”

“To her apartment. She needed time to clear her head.” Abby blew out slowly, suddenly finding her hands very interesting. This wasn’t like her. She was bullheaded and never backed down from a fight, but this wasn’t a fight. This was her about to have a hard conversation with one of her best friends. “Holtz…I need to know what happened last night.”

“You’re gonna hate me,” Holtz said quietly, staring up at the ceiling, hands on her chest like she was being prepared for a casket.

“I swear I’m not,” Abby reassured with a thin smile. “I could never hate you. You’re my best friend.”

“Not hate me like that. Hate me in the ‘Holtz you useless gay’ kind of sense. I can’t remember, Abby. I honestly can’t. I’ve been trying but it’s foggy. I remember eating dinner. I remember getting drunk. I remember Erin helping me up to bed and then waking me up later when she…” the blonde fidgeted uncharacteristically, cheeks turning pink. Holtz wasn’t a modest person, but she wasn’t someone who kissed and told. It wasn’t her style.

“I can guess,” Abby reassured, waving her on. 

“Okay, yeah, but after that? It’s all gray. There are some weirdly bright points but they aren’t exactly memories. Like, I can recall a smell or a sound, but not an actual scene.”

“What do you remember after everything went hazy?”

“Being back at the firehouse and getting off the bike. It’s like I blinked out of sleepwalking or something. And then I puked all over the floor. Go me.”

Abby nodded along, expression grim. “I think you got a secondhand high last night.”

“Whaaaaaat?” Holtz turned her head, eyes huge. “Is then even possible? Patty and I can’t touch PKE.”

“You can’t touch it skin-to-ecto, but Erin…provides a conduit of sorts. She and I—we break it down in our system, so maybe with enough in us we can actually get others ionized.”

“Not gonna lie, Abs, if that’s ionizing I don’t want any part of it. No thank you Bob.”

Abby pushed out a dry laugh. “Yeah, you see why I hate it.”

Holtz’s reciprocating smile was bright but brief. Her face fell into something of a confused hurt look. “So what does this mean? Did Erin—“

“I’m not saying anything that happened last night was intentional,” Abby jumped in, scooting around so she was facing her friend. “I don’t know what Erin was thinking. Maybe she was being knowingly reckless. Maybe she didn’t have a clue either.” Abby very much doubted that, but she couldn’t bring herself to tell Holtz about the fight. It would only muddy the waters between all of them. “She wasn’t being herself, which is why I sent her home. And why I need to talk to you about what happens after this.”

Now Holtz _did_ look worried. “Don’t leave me hanging…”

“Erin broke the ultimatum. She went out ionized and was seen, which means research into PKE is over for all of us.” Holtz remained motionless, staring back at Abby with eerie severity. “I know…look I know this doesn’t seem fair, and maybe it’s not. Maybe I’m being too strict with lab rules, but the fact of the matter remains, we are no closer to understanding what PKE is and what it does. We’re not being scientists. We’re being kids with new toys, and I can’t have that in this organization. What we do, the things we dabble with, it’s already volatile. We can’t afford to go further with PKE research, and I’m sorry if that—”

“Slow your roll, Abbykins, before you start speaking in tongues,” Holtz said, pushing herself into a sitting position. Abby bit into her lip. “Look, I agree, okay? I’m not…really happy about it, but…”

Scratching the back of her head, Holtz turned her attention to the window across from her. Outside, in the bitter New York cold, traffic trudged along like blood in a frozen vein. Neither spoke for a handful of seconds, letting the topic breathe.

“I can see where you’re coming from,” the blonde finally admitted. Secretly, she hated she was having to pick sides. Stuck between her best friends and her partner. A virtual rock and a hard place. “I’m more upset about losing the research. All of Erin’s notes and calculations point to it being a bridge between energies. Do you know what I could make with something like that? The packs and equipment we could have if we didn’t have to worry about friction being a problem with particle acceleration? And that’s just us! There’s so much more here, and I feel we’re cutting our nose off to spite our face.”

“Do you think you’re saying that because Erin’s your girlfriend?”

Holtz visibly bristled. “That’s not a fair question.”

“Except it is. I need you to think objectively here. Is this more about the research or about Erin?”

“Don’t make me choose between the two, Abs.”

“I’m sorry, but I have to. I know you love Erin. I love her too and so does Patty. None of us want to see this research come to an end, but what’s happening to her isn’t healthy and it’s not safe. You two were involved in a police chase last night and only one of you actually remembers. I’d say that’s grounds for worry.”

“What do you want me to say?” Holtz growled, still looking out the window.     

“I want to know if you will agree to end all PKE research.”

“I don’t have a choice in the matter regardless.” She was bitter. It was bound to happen. One of the things that crawled under Holtzmann’s skin was the inability to make choices for herself. She’d prided herself on being both a free thinker and doer. Her life was ruled by her choosing, and if that balance changed in any way it made her itch from the inside out.

“I’m sorry,” Abby sighed, getting up from the bed and crossing to the door. “I hate being the bad guy. You know that. But I can’t bear seeing my family torn apart. Not by something like this. Not by something we can control.”

“But you can’t control it,” Holtz called, stalling Abby and making her turn.

“What?”

“You can’t control it,” the blonde repeated, finally meeting Abby’s gaze. “What happened to you was involuntary. You are the byproduct of an event out of your control. You can’t control your ability to touch PKE or something made of it. It’ll happen on a bust. It’ll happen by accident. It’ll happen, Abby, one way or another.”

The researcher narrowed her eyes, sensing the engineer was hedging at something. “What are you trying to sell?”

“I might have a way to nullify your body’s reaction to PKE.”

Abby’s eyebrows rose. “Care to share with the class?”

“It’s not finished yet.” Holtz made a vague gesture with her hands. “There are still some modifications that need to be made.”

“But?” Abby prompted, sensing the conjunction.

“But I’ll need either you or Erin ionized to test it.”

Abby sucked in her lips, leaning her shoulder against the door, adopting one of her heavy thinking faces. “There aren’t any more ecto-objects in the firehouse.”

Shock moved the engineer back a bit. “You—“

“Got rid of them all last night. I was serious about the research ending.”

“There are still the ecto-mitts,” Holtz surmised, mind working fast. “We can still get more if we need to.”

“That’s not very reassuring, Holtz. Because if you can get them that means Erin can get them too.”

“You’re treating her like she’s an addict,” Holtz frowned deeply.

“I’m treating her like she’s being reckless. Don’t make me do the same with you. If you have something that might stop the ionization, I’m all for it. I never want to ionize again. I can’t speak for Erin, but I’m sure she’d appreciate the work. None of us want this organization going south, so do what you need to, but nothing comes into this firehouse without my say so, got it? I’m fucking serious Holtzmann.”

“You know when I make a promise I keep it.”

Abby nodded. In that, Holtzmann was correct. The woman kept her promises. Thinking it better if she left the engineer to her recovery, Abby headed downstairs.

“She awake?” Patty asked from her place in their ground floor library, looking up from the book she’d been thumbing through.

“Yeah,” Abby exhaled, plopping down on the couch rather than heading to her desk.

“You tell her?”

“Yeah.”

“Come on, man. Don’t make me wheedle it out of you.”

Abby pushed her glasses into her hair and closed her eyes. She’d not slept much last night, dreams plagued with haunting images and things she’d rather forget. “I told her the research was done and she agreed. Not immediately, but she agreed, but there’s a stipulation.”

“Oh?” Patty raised an eyebrow, setting her book aside after bookmarking the page.

“She’s been working on a device that will nullify PKE in mine and Erin’s system. The catch is we have to be ionized in order to test if it works.”

Patty sucked her teeth, coming to the same conclusion Abby had. “So this isn’t over.”

“Nope.” This time, when Abby sighed she felt a familiar weight settle into her bones. She wasn’t a spring chicken anymore. Still young by the world’s standards, but living a buster’s life was hard. Abby was starting to feel the stretch of it.

“Any idea when our resident Jekyll will be back in? Has she called or texted.”

Abby shook her head, eyes still closed. “Thank god, no. I don’t honestly expect Erin to come in today.” _Which is fine_ , Abby wanted to close with but kept her tongue between her teeth. A heavy but welcome hand on her shoulder had her opening her green eyes and looking up at Patty smiling sympathetically down at her.

“I’m gonna make some coffee. Why don’t you take it easy today? If we get a call, I’ll come get the two of you.”

“Thanks, Patty.” Abby covered Patty’s hand with her own and gave it a little squeeze. “But I’ve got papers to file. Coffee would be awesome though.”

“Black with two sugars. Got it.”

Abby nodded appreciatively and took her place at her desk, but her mind was elsewhere. Namely, it had stalled the night before when Erin challenged her. When something in the air shifted. When something between them changed forever. Unbidden, the tendrils of a song touched the researcher’s ears from the radio playing on Kevin’s empty desk—he had Wednesday’s off. Phil Collins crooned a haunting melody, waking goosebumps down Abby’s arms.

_Well I was there and I saw what you did, I saw it with my own two eyes_

_So you can wipe off that grin, I know where you've been_  
__  
It's all been a pack of lies  
_  
_ _I can feel it coming in the air tonight, oh Lord_

_Well I've been waiting for this moment for all my life, oh Lord. Oh Lord._

Abby sat frozen, the lyrics waking a series of shakes she thought she’d put behind her. Something was coming. She could feel it, but the intuition of her gut stopped there. Just a feeling. A strong one, but undeniable.

* * *

A reflection, sharp and brittle in the morning light—was it morning? Hard to tell—twists with its master. Back and forth. Snake-like. Teasing. White eyes stare back, black pupils tracking over something unseen. Calculating. Weighing. Strands of unwashed hair brush across her face: half white, half brown.

She crouched on the floor like a feral beast, body pulled into itself. Around her glittered thousands of tiny stars. No, not stars. They twinkled like stars but weren’t. Too earthbound and sharp to be anything but glass. The living room hardwood was dusted in it. What was left of the room, that is. Slender fingers push through the razor sharp fragments, bunching them into clusters around the tips. A thousand smiles bounce back, the blue glow in her throat not nearly as bright but still there. Still prevalent. Still menacing.

Finally, a selection was made. Deft fingers pluck up a shard the size of her palm. It’s wicked edge caught the light, promising maximum damage.

When Erin stands, she does so slowly, each joint and muscle popping. She almost creaks with the movement. Her spine straightens, bends, settles with a click. Silhouetted by the light streaming through windows stripped of both blinds and curtains, she looks too long. Too lean. The proportion of her body off in subtle ways. Alien, almost.

Erin breathes in. Doesn’t fight the giggle bubbling from her throat. Rolls her shoulders. Prepares herself. She had so much to do already. 

A song touches her throat as she makes her way to the bare wall opposite her front door, hummed with Sunday morning cheerfulness. Each step crunches underfoot. Half the glass littering the floor seemed to have come from pictures swept from their hooks. A large, decorative mirror—once hanging beside the door—joined the broken frames. A flat screen lay nearby, liquid crystals leaking from a sizable crack in the corner from where it impacted the floor beside the overturned sofa and broken coffee table.

Fisting her makeshift instrument, Erin’s white eyes sweep the wall, pleased. Equations stretch away from her—floor to ceiling, looping almost entirely around the living room—etched into the wall with shards of glass when her pens and pencils no longer served their purpose. Lines and lines of numbers, hypothesis, theories…plans.    

So many plans.

“Hickory dickory dock,” she softly sings, the children’s rhyme being one of her favorites. The edge of her shard bit into the plaster, digging long furrows that would become the symbol for pie. “The mouse ran up the clock.”

 She stands on a stool, beginning a new sequence of numbers. A smile isn’t far from her lips as Erin hacks out her equations, her research. The research that had been stolen. The research she was owed but denied. The research that was _hers_.

“The clock struck one,” she hummed and hacked. “And down he ran.” Another number, deeper this time. She drags the shard longer than necessary. “Hickory. Dickory. Dock.”

Another line comes into being. The theory spreads.

What day was it? How long had she been at this? Erin didn’t know. Hadn’t thought it important to check, her phone going unanswered somewhere among the rubble. She didn’t honestly remember storming back to her apartment and waking up on the floor surrounded by the shattered remnants. Confusion hadn’t touched her, even as she took the destruction in with cold appraisal. A waist, to be sure, but the space could prove useful.

Drive pulled her from the floor and had her stripping the walls bare with careless flare. She needed room. Her whiteboards were back at the firehouse. Out of reach. Guarded. Watched. A trickle of something akin to paranoia touched Erin, making her still, making her think. Abby called a stop to the research. She only had the power to stop it at the firehouse. Nowhere else. Erin’s apartment was hers. This was her home. Her second sanctuary.

Oh yes, this would do nicely.

Pens came first. When they ran dry, she attempted pencils but broke them all, her touch too rough, too frantic, too desperate. Anger boiled, white hot and dangerous. There had been crashes, splintering, screaming. Someone pounded on her door. She pounded back from the other side, nearly splitting the wood. The person left and never came back.

Eventually, the anger ebbed, giving way to cold, clinical clarity. Her brain began again, sorting the numbers dancing around behind her eyes. With no writing utensils on hand, Erin picked the next best thing. Happily, there was an abundance of glass shards to choose from. She set to work, content for the first time in days.

But the drive wasn’t lasting. After an undetermined period of time, Erin realized she’d begin to wane, staring at the same group of numbers but unable to work past them. Her mind was thickening into soup. Shadows stretched across her broken apartment. Soon it would be night. But which night? How many days?

Still so much to do. She shook her head and tried again. Tried to focus. Tried to work, willpower pushing her beyond a reasonable limit.

Blinking again—when had the sun risen?—Erin felt her body begin to sway, a gnawing ache crawling into her gut that could be hunger or something else. It was painful, no matter the cause, making her hunch and wince, taking her out of the trance. Her tongue barely shifted when she went to lick her lips, the muscle swollen and cracked.

“Water,” she croaked with a voice unrecognizable to her ears. Sounded like sandpaper against rough wood grain.

Pushing away from the wall ended her up on the floor among the glass shards. Gravity was a bitch. Erin shook her head to clear it, unable to understand what was happening. Led for bones. Jelly for muscles. Acid for air. _Why_? Where had her energy gone? She felt like she’d been hastily constructed out of leaves and the first decent wind had blown her asunder.

“Move…Gilbert,” she snarled down at herself, willing her muscles to comply. They did, but they protested. Oh, they protested.

There were water bottles in the fridge but nothing else. Erin didn’t live here. This was a glorified storage space now. She didn’t make a habit of keeping food on hand—only paid the rent to keep the water and electricity on.

Her hands shook unscrewing the cap. She almost dropped the cold, slick plastic twice. Her first sip was tentative. Hesitant. The cold scorched her mouth and left her teeth aching, but the relief was practically orgasmic. Erin drained the container in a few greedy swallows, drenching the front of her rumpled shirt. Reached for another. Drained that one too, and another after that until she became sick. But at least she could think again.

Dragging her hand across her mouth, Erin’s scientific brain rebooted like a stalled computer. A program was selected without her knowledge, prompting her into action. Raw instinct and some of the first aid training she’d had with the girls told her what she needed. Food next. Food was important. Water first now food.

But food left her queasy. Erin barely got down the spoon-full of cold, canned soup from her bare cupboard, gagging at the taste. It wasn’t spoiled…it just tasted like charcoal. Felt like slime against her tongue. _That_ correlation had her puking into the sink. Fuck that, crackers would do. Crackers were good…even if they were stale. She ate the entire box without noticing.

The gnawing in Erin’s stomach subsided minimally with proper sustenance, but the lingering ache was something else. Something new. It left her shaking and unstable, barely able to walk a straight line or stand without getting dizzy.

_Tired,_ she thought leaning heavily against the counter. _You’re just tired._

But it wasn’t that. She wasn’t tired. She was hungry but for something out of reach. Erin ran a hand down her face and felt sweat against her palm.

“Maybe it’s time to go back,” she said aloud.

Go back? To that prison? To the people guarding her like wardens? No, Erin wanted to stay in the sanctuary she’d made, sharp and dangerous though it might have been. But the rational part of herself was right. She needed to go back. It had been… _three days?_

Erin’s eyebrows shot into her hairline when she lifted her phone—it had been on the counter—and swiped the screen. Twenty-seven missed calls. Eighteen missed text messages. But no one had come looking for her. Or had they? The person knocking? Had that been Holtz? Or Abby?

“Guess I’ll find out,” she muttered, making her way to the bathroom. If it had been three days, Erin could guess what she looked like even without a mirror. Odd though, there wasn’t a mirror to look at when she entered the room. At least, not one that showed a decent reflection. Not with a fist-sized hole in it and the spider webbing snaking away like ripples in a pond.

Odder still…there was no blood. Erin glanced at her hands, long fingers twitching. Not a scratch. Not a mark.

“Get dressed,” she sighed, closing those same fingers into a fist…one that would match the hole in the mirror. “Dressed, firehouse, Holtz…coin.”

Maybe not in that order, but Erin wouldn’t admit that aloud.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can you feel it coming in the air tonight? Oh lord. Oh lord. Like I said, next chapter should be up by Sunday so long as I'm not working (or dead from working, we'll see) and it's gonna be a doozy of a chapter
> 
> Reviews and comments literally help me write faster. Please let me know what you think! Thank you!


	18. Resurface

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part two. Here we go. The official freefall.

Showered, minimally refreshed, but at the very least clean—she’d even found a spare blouse and skirt in her dusty closet—Erin walked quickly through the heavy foot traffic of a normal New York morning. She got a few sideways looks from passersby. It was a balmy, twenty-eight degrees in mid-December, and here she was in a thin pink blouse and knee-length tweed skirt with white sneakers like it was August. Her breath didn’t fog. Her skin didn’t pebble. Strangely, Erin didn’t feel the cold. Didn’t feel much of anything but the gnawing in her gut and the steadily growing black hole behind her sternum.

The light turned red at the crosswalk, prompting the pedestrians forward. Erin wove her way through the masses, rarely bumping shoulders and doing a marvelous job of slipping through the crowd like oil through water.

“Morning Tall Boss!” Kevin greeted cheerily from his desk when Erin stepped into the building, offering an enthusiastic wave before returning to the Christmas ornaments he was painting, but not before looking over his shoulder and _screaming_. “Big Boss!” Kevin boomed. “Tall Boss is here! You said to shout if she came in today so I’m shouting!”

Erin jumped and closed her eyes against the sudden noise grating against her eardrums like squeaky Styrofoam in stereo.

“Kevin, buddy, we need to work on your comprehension skills. I didn’t mean actually scream.” Abby sighed, coming around the corner from the kitchen with her finger in her ear and a mug of coffee in the other hand. She stared across the greeting area at Erin, both women stoically appraising the other.

“Bout time you showed up,” Abby said, breaking the tense silence. Why did this feel like their first meeting at Higgins all those years ago? Probably because Abby was staring at a total stranger once again.

“You said to take the time I needed to clear my head. I’ve done that,” Erin replied coolly, spreading her hands. She didn’t blink. Didn’t emote. Didn’t even appear real. Somewhere on the ground floor, Patty leaned around her own desk, eyeing the two.

“Well, thank god for that,” the shorter researcher snorted, setting her mug down on her desk. Usually, that would earn her an eye roll from Erin, but the physicist remained stone cold, stating she had work to do upstairs. Abby, however, wasn’t finished.

“You and I need to have a talk.”

“I believe you made yourself clear when last we spoke. I don’t need a refresher.”

Abby crossed her arms, nonplused. “Except you do.”

“Another time—“

“There aren’t any ecto-objects left in this firehouse and there won’t be any coming in.”

Erin froze by the stairs, hand on the railing. A thousand things burst through her mind like strobe lighting, one of which was denied. No, Abby wouldn’t do that. It was all talk. Posturing bullshit. Her attempt at feigning control. Erin’s fingers tightened around the metal railing. The pit in her chest expanded a little more, growing colder.

“You want to run that by me again?”

“I think you heard me. Turn around, Erin.”

She complied slowly, the tightness in her posture showing in her expression. Abby looked ready for a fight, bracing for whatever came next. So it was a bit shocking when Erin pushed off the staircase and made her way towards the panic room with purposeful strides. Abby cast a wary look back at Patty before following.

This wasn’t right, Erin thought. She was lying. Had to be. Abby wouldn’t do this. She wouldn’t throw away all their research, compromising months of work—

Fluorescent lights flickered into existence with an electric whine when the door creaked open. Erin’s erratic heart beat soared into overdrive, body breaking into a cold sweat.

“No,” she breathed.

Wall-to-wall, the room was completely and utterly bare.

Suddenly, Erin knew a kind of fear she hadn’t experienced until now, pale claws sinking into her heart. She wanted to scream. To rage. To throw herself at the woman who had been her best friend and demand to know why she’d taken everything from her? Why this? Why now? But she couldn’t. Not with how close the researcher had been to kicking her off the team. If Erin reacted negatively it would give Abby the leverage she needed to make her dismissal final. That couldn’t happen. Erin wouldn’t let it happen.

Another twitch worked up her spine, making her head roll sharply to one side. In the room beyond, some of the lights flickered. The black hole grew, sucking her down…down…down.

“You destroyed everything.” Accusation. Betrayal. If black ice could take verbal form, chunks of it would have fallen from her lips.

“I did,” Abby affirmed, leaving no room for argument. This was final, the period at the end of a sentence.

“Why?” Erin gripped the doorframe, nail beds turning stark white. It was hard to hide the tremble in her shoulders.

“Because you broke the ultimatum, and before you go stomping upstairs known this. Holtzmann agreed to stop the research, too. We all have. This is done, Erin. PKE is behind us. Time to move on.”

Slender fingers left the frame and curled…closing into tight fists. Blood roared in her ears. Gone. It was all gone. Everything…every object. That couldn’t be right. Did Abby know about the others? Had she found those? The small things, collected and hoarded with practiced care? Erin dared to hope because only then did the outcome of this confrontation not end with blood on her hands.

If Abby sensed the threat growing around her she didn’t react, standing her ground like she had three nights ago. Maybe it would have been better had she run.

“You fucking hypocrite.”

Abby twisted, shock and anger jockeying for dominance. “ _What_ did you say?”

Erin didn’t elaborate. She knew Abby heard. “You preached from day one all you wanted to do was discover the unknown and unravel its secrets. We’ve worked our entire lives to get to this point, fought through ridicule and shame only for you to pull out at the last second because things weren’t going your way. You destroyed everything we’ve discovered out of fear and ignorance like a Puritan burning a witch, setting our research back years, yet you call yourself the unofficial leader of our organization and paint yourself as the infallible hero. You’re not fit to lead this team.”

Erin turned her back on the room and the woman staring at her in open shock. “But I think the truth at the bottom of this is much simpler. You're playing favorites. You have from the start, and that’s easy to see now. You let Holtz rearrange nuclear particles and build proton weapons in an open lab and test them in a civilian alley with little regard to safety just like you did back at Higgins. It's nostalgic. It's familiar, but the second something new comes in? The second I have something to bring to the table that might revolutionize our way of existence suddenly it's a problem? I call bullshit.”

Leaving the hall, Erin felt Abby’s eyes following her, boring into the back of her skull.

“Kick me off the team, if you like, but you’ll only prove my point,” she added grimly over her shoulder before heading upstairs at a near sprint. One problem taken care of. One more to solve.

Hunt. Seek. Find. Three instinctive words playing like a prayer in her mind.

Holtz was in her lab when Erin popped up on the second-floor landing and looked up in surprise when the brunette fumbled in the doorway. Erin hadn’t expected to see her so soon, hoped she’d be somewhere else while she looked. Instead, she was where she always was. In her lab.

“Hey,” the engineer greeted, smile small and hopeful. Erin noted, however, she didn’t immediately jump up, something akin to wariness to the set of her frame. “When did you get here?”

Did Erin answer? Did she continue searching? What was the proper protocol here? No, what was the best way to do this without raising suspicion…that was the better question.

“I just got here,” she replied, successfully hiding the throttling desire to tear apart the lab. She was getting good at this. Straightening, Erin smoothed her skirt and walked forward, hands clasped in front of her, chewing her bottom lip. It took her a moment to compile her thoughts and buy herself some time.

“Umm, listen, Holtz. I—the night we went out, I wasn’t in my right mind. I fucked up, and I’ve done a lot of thinking since then. Sorry it took so long for me to come around. I’m…sorry I missed your texts. And calls. I just needed time.”

“Hey, you don’t have to explain yourself,” Holtz said, setting down her wrench and cleaning her greasy hands on her overalls. Erin couldn’t help but notice there was a slender silver band on the workbench that looked like a bracelet. Her stomach squirmed. Hadn’t Holtz mentioned working on something for her and Abby?

“We kind of both fucked up. I’m just glad you’re back,” Holtz was saying when Erin returned to the conversation.

“Me too. I missed you.” The hug they shared felt…off. Erin reciprocated, but she felt coiled. Stiff. Awkwardness aside, the physicist was a hugger around her familiars. This motion felt foreign. “I am sorry, Holtz.”

“Fear not. All is forgotten,” she said, waving at the air as if dispelling a noxious odor. Gently, she fingered a few strands of Erin’s bi-colored hair, smirking a bit. “Is this your attempt to emulate all the cool kids doing trendy things with their hair?”

“What’s wrong with my hair?”

“Nothing at all,” Holtz grinned and kissed her cheek. “I like the dual color. Make you look a hell of a lot younger.”

The blonde barely dodges the sharp shove Erin gives her, cackling as she dances away. “No offense, no offense! It’s an awesome look. Now come take a look at what I’ve got cooking up over here.” The engineer gestured excitedly at the delicate silver strip on her workbench. It looked like a watchband missing its watch face, interlocking segments with a dizzying amount of tiny wire tech stuffed inside.

“I call it Wic! Wearable Ionization Control. It’s a prototype. Nothing concrete, but I think I might be able to create a wearable device for you and Abby that will nullify your body’s reaction to PKE. I’m experimenting with combining silver, magnesium, iron, and a few other things. Did you know there were apparently quite a few metals that supernatural beings have trouble with? And I’m not talking about the TV show!” Holtz burst into laughter at her own joke and was too caught up snorting into her elbow to notice Erin’s distinct lack of excitement. She was quick to school her face into something of an amused exasperation when Holtz eventually looked up.

“You’re a dork, and I love you,” Erin chuckled, kissing the top of Holtzmann’s head. “Never change. I’m going to grab something a little warmer from upstairs, okay?”

“Sure thing, pretty mama. Send me pictures,” Holtz added a wink at the end, finding her flirtatious groove once again.

Erin’s flashed a sideways smile before bolting upstairs, taking two at a time. A change of clothes was a perfect excuse to start her search, and start she did. One section at a time beginning with her bedroom. Things were pulled out and put back with little care. Drawers opened. Boxes pulled out from under the bed. Where was it!? She knew it was here. Abby wouldn’t have known about it. Holtz didn’t even know. Erin had been good about hiding it just like she’d hidden the tapes. So where…

Waist deep in her closet and up to her elbows in Holtzmann’s discarded clothing—the woman didn’t know how to use a hanger, apparently—her hands closed around a metal cylinder, and Erin almost cries with relief. Rocking back on her heels, she touched the canister to her forehead like it was a precious artifact.

“I knew you were still here,” she breathed against the cold metal.

With gentle fingers she slid the air locked lid back with a hiss, exposing the small ecto-objects ionized inside to the atmosphere. Harvesting these little trinkets hadn’t been that hard. Once Erin became aware of ecto-objects finding them while on busts wasn’t difficult. A button plucked from a pinned ghost here. A coin there. All kept safely hidden in her shirt until she got home and could transfer them to a thermos. It had been easy. Too easy. Erin should have guessed there was a cost to her research.

Dipping her fingers into the canister, Erin retrieved one button and clenched it in her fist. It wasn’t nearly powerful enough to chase away the black hole, but it diminished it. Helped her exhale and took some of the hunger away. Relief eased through her veins like ice water. She held it until it disappeared entirely, energy gone into her skin, and caught herself reaching for another. If this was all she had this would have to last.

Leaning back, Erin closed her eyes and drew in heavily through her nose. The air chilled. Grew still. Grew staticy. Or was it her? When she opened her eyes and focused, she felt…calm. Clinical. It was a welcome change to the swirling chaos that had been her reality just moments ago.

Looking around, the physicist knew she wasn’t home free, as the saying went. Privacy was hard won in the firehouse. Someone could walk in. They could find her stash. She couldn’t have that. This was hers. This little canister was all she had. So she’d hide it again. Her little secret until she could think of some way around this blockade.

Erin dressed quickly, appraising her reflection in the mirror on her vanity before departing the room. She turned this way and that, looking at her angles, at the sweep of her bi-colored hair, at the sharpness in her gaze. Maybe she should do something with her hair like just bleach it entirely. It was the hardest tell to hide, after all. Not like the others. Erin blinked once: white. Blinded again: blue. Blinked a third time…stuttering white and then…nothing, like a candle guttering in the wind.

This lull would be temporary.

Holtzmann threw Erin a comical pout from where she’d wedged herself under a particularly large machine in the back of the lab when the physicist resurfaced. Erin spotted snaking coils of gas and electrical cords spooled around the blonde’s feet leading to an impressive welding rig nearby.

“You disappoint me, Gilbert.” Erin stopped walking halfway to her whiteboard, turning ever so slightly towards her partner. Preoccupied with tightening a nut, Holtz missed the dip in fluorescent lighting above the taller woman. “You’re the worst type of tease.”

“How is that?” Erin inquired lightly.

Pushing herself out from under the machine on a rolling dolly, she cleared sweat and grease from her brow with a swipe of her hand. “You spent all that time upstairs and my phone remained naughty-photo-free. All that wasted potential.” The engineer tisked, shaking her head. “Have I taught you nothing?”

Erin tilted her head in a vaguely reptilian way, considering. “You’ve taught me more than you know.”

It wasn’t the words spoken but the tone that made Holtzmann look up. Erin looked back at her, a small smile on her lips, but the whole things seemed staged. Masked, almost. Perplexed by this sudden shift and not knowing how to address it, Holtz’s overshadowed her unease with jest.

“Honey, I’ll be your personal instructor any day, just tell me when you’d like an oral presentation.”

This was common between the two. Abby hated it when workplace flirting became overtly sexual, but it was inevitable and relatively harmless. Little japes here and there meant to stoke fires for later. Something stoked in Erin, but it wasn’t the expected flush of arousal or even girlish embarrassment. It was something far colder.

“Anyway,” Holtz said, stretching out the word, “just doing some spot welding, so don’t mind me. Also, don’t look directly at the arc unless you want to go blind.”

“Got it,” Erin said with a distracted nod, missing her girlfriend’s wink as she flipped down her welding mask with a sharp jerk of her head.

For the rest of the afternoon, the lab was filled with the sizzle of Holtzmann’s welding rig and the smell of Noble gasses and heated metal. Normally, the hum of activity acted as white noise for the physicist, but today she couldn’t concentrate. Her whiteboards remained untouched save for the equations she’d been working on three days prior, old ink staring her down.

This was absurd. This wasn’t her work, and Erin was loath to occupy her time with something that didn’t hold her interest. She began to pace, rubbing her arm, acutely aware of the sucking feeling returning to her chest and what it meant. The sizzle of Holtz’s MIG welder mirrored the static in her veins.

She didn’t want to be here, plain and simple. The firehouse felt like a tomb with walls too high and thick for her liking. No, like a cage. Stifling, confining, inhibiting, small. She chafed at the shackles around her feet, itching to run.

Itch is a good word, she nodded to no one in particular. This was an itch. The need to be somewhere other than here where she could work without inhibition. Without consequence. Without the wardens staring at the back of her skull and making her skin prickle. No amount of shoulder rolling would dispel the sensation of being watched. Weighed. Measured. It put her on edge. Woke a growl at the back of her throat that bared her teeth every so many minutes that crawled by.

Fingers digging through her hair, Erin tried to push the sensations aside but might as well have been trying to move a bus barehanded. She couldn’t do this. It was too open. She felt exposed and naked. The seclusion of her apartment and the breakthroughs she’d uncovered called to her like a siren.

“You heading out?”

The voice brought her back to the present with a start. Hand on the knob of the front door, Erin focused her vision and glanced over her shoulder. Patty watched her from her library, expression unreadable. What was she thinking, Erin wondered, suspicion crawling black and ugly under her skin. What did she suspect?

“I was going to grab something to eat.” The lie slipped easily from her tongue.

“Girl, that’s an excellent idea. Mind if I join you?”

It wasn’t a request, Erin knew, and she bristled. No, she didn’t want the company. No, she couldn’t say that out loud. That would raise too many eyebrows and she was watched close enough as is.

“Sure,” she shrugged instead, feigning comradery.

“Sweet. There’s this new Greek place that just opened up I’ve been dying to try.” Patty retrieved her jacket after shouting up to Holtzmann if she wanted anything. Shockingly, she’d not seen Erin leave the lab.

Erin grabbed her coat out of the closet—noticing there was a distinct lack of Abby on the ground floor—and headed out. Her body directed itself towards her apartment like she was a calculating GPS pulled along by strong magnets. Redirecting herself took effort. Every step away from what she wanted left her feeling more and more off balance.

Patty chatted happily—excitedly going over her latest historical finds—the two taking their time in the December cold. Erin nodded along and tried to follow the thread of conversation but couldn’t. Her mind was adrift. Her body felt like it was on fire. The black hole in her chest expanded again.

The city was noisy. Cars, horns, people shouting, people talking, moving, living. It’s a heartbeat that pounded in Erin’s temples even as she’s grabbing bags from the cashier while Patty pays for the meal. She fought the urge to drop them and run, skin crawling, blood on fire, sweat trickling down her spine.

Want became need which became irritation caught under a pressure cooker’s lid. Building….building….building…

The world muffled, dimed, condensed. Erin needed to stop if only to get her bearings, attention drawn to the reflection of herself in a shop window. Something else looked back. Half of her knew what was happening. The other half rested firmly in denial.

“Damn, honey, you spot another pair of shoes again?” Patty called when she realized the physicist wasn’t beside her. Erin’s material weakness always came back to shoes. Abby loved to razz her about it whenever they went out for a night on the town. Patty figured everyone was allowed a vice.

Huffing when she didn’t get a response, she trekked back, arms weighed down with heavy plastic sacks. “Yo, Erin, food’s not going to keep, man. I don’t know about you, but I’m not eating a cold gyro. You’ve got enough shoes. Let’s go.”

It happened almost too fast for the historian to catch. In fact, she was almost convinced it was a trick of the light had her body not erupted in a wave of chills. Five years of busting instinct conditioned her to pay attention.

Erin stood in front of a nondescript store, eyes glued to something beyond the glass. Lifting a hand and pressing it against the cold, smooth surface, she leaned in and that’s when Patty saw…something.

White eyes where blue should have reflected. White hair, root to tip, swept past slender shoulders. Two women stood in front of the glass storefront, never more opposite. Erin tilted her head to get a better look, and Patty felt her blood freeze. The reflection didn’t move with its maker, and she swore on her grave those same white eyes flicked in her direction.

Patty blinked, startled enough to take a step back, but when her eyes reopen the spell broke. Erin was turning back around, and there was nothing off about her other than the creepy feeling lingering under Patty’s skin.

“Something wrong?” Erin asked, frowning.

Patty didn’t immediately answer until her goosebumps subsided. “We got food to deliver, baby. Come on.” Turing her back on the shorter woman was one of the hardest things she’d ever done.

There were no more spooky incidents that night. Erin was quiet, but that was nothing new. Abby’s vacancy from their evening meal caught Holtzmann’s attention. Patty explained the researcher excused herself earlier that afternoon, sighting a meeting with the mayor over funding and was going to head home afterward. Erin didn’t comment. In fact, she didn’t do much of anything other than push her food around with her fork, doing her best to keep her attention from drifting to the door.

Nightfall was her salvation, or so she thought. After Patty departed to her room in the firehouse—tonight was her overnight shift—it was just Erin and Holtzmann, but the engineer was a chronic insomniac. She and Patty would notice if Erin left and would become suspicious if they woke to Erin returning. Sneaking out wasn’t an option.

Caught between a rock and a hard place, the physicist did her best to keep her mind and hands occupied—writing equations fervently in a personal journal that quickly became too cramped to fill anymore—but it wasn’t the same. She needed her walls, the open space, and the freedom to create.

Erin saw both sunset and sunrise, not sleeping a wink. Hours blur like spilled ink. At some point, she was eating breakfast but not tasting a thing. Conversations came and went. She feels like she’s standing rock-solid in the middle of the lab, staring at her work while the pressure builds.

Night comes again and this time it’s just Erin and Holtz. Wednesday nights they share shifts despite the two already living permanently at the firehouse. Erin doesn’t try to leave, however, feeling she’s watched at every turn. Instead, she waits and watches and makes her move in the wee hours of the morning, scampering like a thief in the night to the lab.

That was where Holtzmann found her almost four hours later after waking to find Erin’s half of the bed empty and cold. Usually, this wouldn’t concern her. People have to pee. It was a normal bodily function. Or maybe it was a need for water. Whatever the case, she didn’t become suspicious until a fair amount of time passed without any sounds radiating from the bathroom.

Throwing her red robe over her baggy band-shirt and loose boxers, Holtzmann padded to the door, leaned out, and listened. The hall was silent. There were no lights on anywhere. She moved towards the stairs and listened again, and only after deep concentration did she pick up the faint squeak of whiteboard markers.

The second floor was equally dark. Her lab was open but the lights remained off, shadows broken only by the tiny illuminations on her equipment. Easing in, she wasn’t entirely sure what she’d find, but there was only one person on earth who would be here at this hour.

Holtz spotted Erin’s silhouette where she expected it to be. The physicist had dragged three of her largest whiteboards together and was frantically going to town on the second one, hand a blur. Her movement was the desperate kind of frantic that suggested if she didn’t move at a breakneck pace she’d lose whatever inspiration was driving her.

“Erin?” The blonde thumbed on the light, squinting at the flood of harsh white.

"Jesus Christ!” the brunette yelped, dropping her marker and digging the heels of her palms into her eyes. “Turn it off! _Turn it off_!”

Holtz jumped and fumbled the switch, the absence of light leaving sheets of ghost images floating in her field of vision. “Shit, I’m sorry. What are you doing down here?”

Erin recovered quickly but didn’t bother snatching the pen from the floor, grabbing another and popping the cap. “Working.”

“At three in the morning?”

“Yes.”

“But it’s _three in the morning_.”

"I’m so glad we determined that,” Erin said without looking away, hand again moving.

Unnerved, Holtzmann circled around until she stood at Erin’s desk, putting the two in profile. “Baby, you’re kind of wigging me out. You don’t ever come down here this late.”

“I told you. I’m working,” Erin snapped but didn’t slow. “You work this late all the time. Why is it weird for me to do it?”

“Because I don’t work in total darkness.”

A hitch. A stall. Erin’s body stiffened just enough to indicate something struck home. “Light from the windows is enough. Too much this late and I get a migraine.”

“You’re facing away from the windows,” Holtz says slowly, stepping closer. “Erin…are you ionized?”

Another stall, this one longer. Something creaks. Sounded like straining plastic.

“You think I am?”

“Kind of why I’m asking.”

“No. I’m not.”

“Look at me and tell me that.”

Erin did. She turned to face her partner and there wasn't any white in her eyes or blue glow to her mouth, but she might as well have been carved from marble. Holtz’s scalp tightened, heart beating a little faster.

“Satisfied?”

“I will be once you come back to bed.” She speaks low and slow, reaching for the marker Erin still has poised atop the whiteboard. “Come on, baby. It’s late. You need to sleep.”

Erin’s eyes flicked from Holtzmann’s reaching hand to her pen and back again. She jerked out of range, putting distance between the two without breaking eye contact. “Don’t. I have work to do.”

“Sweetheart, you’re starting to worry me.”

Erin ignored her. She’s completed another line of numbers, muttering under her breath as she calculated the next set.

“Erin…Erin, talk to me. You’ve not been acting like yourself. This isn’t you. You hardly spoke a word yesterday. You’ve not been eating. You’ve hardly gotten any work done until now. Please tell me what’s going on.”

“Are you spying on me now?” The ice in her words dips the temperature in the room.

“I’m not spying,” Holtz countered defensively. “I’m observing. These are things you’re doing that everyone else can see. What’s going on? Why did Abby really leave yesterday?”

“Ask _her_.”

“ _I’m_ asking you.”

“I’m working.”

"You’re ignoring and skirting my questions. Please, whatever it is, I’ll understand. Is this about the PKE research?” No response. “Erin?” Again nothing, just the squeak of her marker against the board. “ _Erin_!” Holtz snatches the marker from her hands.

“Give it back, Holtzmann!” Erin snarled, rounding on her.

“Not until you talk to me,” the blonde pleaded.

“ _Give it back_!”

“Talk to me first!” she shouted, hating she had to raise her voice.

Erin whirled, looking for something that Holtz spotted before her. Lightning quick, the engineer grabbed the box of markers sitting nearby and hid them behind her back, backing away as she did.

"What’s happening to you? Why are you acting like this, like a fucking strange in the firehouse?”

“Stop it, Holtzmann!”

“Answer my goddamn—“

In a burst of inhuman speed, Erin pinned Holtzmann to the wall of her lab, hands fisted in her shirt collar. The blonde gagged around the knuckles pressing into her throat, feet barely brushing the floor. None of that registered. All Holtz could see was Erin inches from her, eyes wild and white…ionized out of sync. She said she wasn’t ionized. How was she ionized? Oh god…

“ _I told you to fucking stop_!” Erin thundered, pressing Holtz higher. “You don’t understand! None of you fucking understand what this feels like! None of you fucking get it! I just want to be left alone to do my work, but at every turn there you all are like prison guards! None of you understand what I’m feeling because of this! I’m on fire all the time like my bones are melting! I can hardly breathe. I can’t taste anything. I can’t sleep. I can’t concentrate! It feels like every inch of my soul is pulling away from my body, but all you three seem to care about is whether or not I’m adhering to your standards of normalcy!”

Holtz gritted her teeth, eyes squeezed shut as the pounding in her ears became a roaring tide. She couldn’t breathe. Tears leaked from the corner of her eyes. Her head felt like it was expanding past capacity. Just like when Abby had been possessed by Rowan, she tried to wedge her fingers under Erin’s hands but couldn’t.

“E-Er-in, p-please. Don’t...”

“Don’t what, Holtzmann? _Don’t what?!_ Don’t do something stupid? Don’t do something I'll regret? Too fucking slow on the draw. I already did that the moment I let you all take my work from me! All I want is something that’s mine! But I can’t have that between the three of you! So I’ll take what’s mine even if I have to tear through creation to get to it!”

Holtz was starting to lose her grip on consciousness, fresh panic welling in the pit of her stomach. “Ba-by…y-you’re hurting…m-me…” She barely got the words across her teeth, but Holtz might as well have shouted.

Erin froze. The whole world did, all of creation leaning in, holding its breath like the inhale before the scream. The gasp before a collision. Confusion. Understanding. Clarity. Fear. It all hit at once.

Something snapped.

The pressure pinning the smaller woman disappeared. Holtzmann slid to the floor like a marionette with its strings cut, coughing and sucking in air greedily from her crumped sitting position. Relief made her wet vision blur. Body unresponsive and head foggy, she struggled to orient herself. A part of her was content remaining on the floor. The greater majority screamed for her to get up. When Holtz finally raised her head she understood why her instincts were screaming.

In the years she’d known the physicist—truly known the woman behind the awkwardness and anxiety, the tweed and the quiet smiles—she had never before witnessed this level of terror. It became a physical force pushed from the brunette like an aura.

This was Erin resurfacing for the first time in—fuck, Holtz couldn’t place it, and that scared her. This was _her_ Erin breaking free from whatever had a hold of her. But this was a rebirth into a cold and frightening world. Fear, uncertainty, disgust: the emotions flashed across Erin’s pale face in strobes like heat lightning. She lifted her hands, now strangers to her. Turned them. Looked past her trembling fingers at the woman she loved rasping on the floor.

Hands up—not to ward off but to drive away— Erin retreated backward into the lab. She was hardly pausing between heaving breaths, body shaking to the point it looked like seismic activity taking place under her skin.

“Oh my god. I’m so sorry. _Oh my god_ …” The mantra came hard and fast, tears cutting lines down her face and making the natural blue of her eyes shine. Gone was the white. Gone was the anger and the lingering of something darker.

The physical need to hold and comfort overwhelmed the engineer as she watched her partner come to grips with unforgiving awareness…with the knowledge of what she’d done. 

Back colliding with an aluminum cabinet, Erin slid to the floor, curling into herself. Everything was too bright, too harsh, too overstimulating. Her clothing felt like white static against her skin. The air didn’t feel real. Why did everything smell like ozone? Why did her head throb and her heart race and her eyes water? Why was it so loud? Why did she hurt?

“Erin?” Holtz croaked roughly, fear all but forgotten. Erin didn’t respond. Didn’t even appear to hear. Slowly, pushing herself into a low crouch, Holtzmann channeled her inner Tarzan and crept forward. She had to be cautious. This was delicate work walked on a knife’s edge.

“Erin? It’s me. Sweetheart, look at me.” Holtz watched from her crouch as her girlfriend descended into something far beyond normal panic. This was something new but terrifyingly familiar. The engineer blanched at the memory of white walls, sterile rooms and things being in places they shouldn’t. Like people crawling on ceilings and bugs crawling all over doctors. The whispers had been the worst.

Erin’s hands went everywhere but nowhere. Touched her hair, her face, rubbed her arms, clenched and unclenched all while her eyes stared at the floor between her knees. Something was calling her name. Far away but familiar. She couldn’t place it. Couldn’t hold the sound long enough before brain swept it away. Who was talking?

The moment Holtzmann made physical contact was the moment everything shattered. Erin’s eyes flew up at the same time she kicked backward into the cabinet with a startled cry, head cracking against the aluminum.

“Don’t touch me!” she shrilled, all but crawling up the cabinet in her attempt to flee. “Please, I don’t want to hurt you! _Please…please don’t_ …”

Holtz edged back enough to give them space, but not far enough she wasn’t within arm’s reach. “Shh, it’s okay. I know you won’t do it again. Just calm down and talk to me. About anything. I’ll listen. I don’t think I’ve done enough of that recently. Talk to me, baby. Tell me what’s happening.”

“I hurt you,” Erin sobbed into the hand covering her mouth, and her anguish returning with fresh vigor. “ _I hurt you_.”

“It wasn’t you,” Holtz countered soothingly. “Baby, I know that wasn’t you. You’d never willingly raise a finger against me.”

Erin nodded hard, loose hair swinging with the motion. “Yes, it was. It was me. It’s always me.” Tucking her head against her knees, Erin’s body shook, her cries barely muffled against the fabric of her pajama pants. Holtzmann’s heart broke anew. “What’s happening to me? _What did I do? Why did I do that?_ ”

Unable to stand the distance, the engineer scooted close, pulling her girlfriend against her chest. There was a moment of stiffened fear, of fight and struggle, but Erin had little resistance left in her at this point. Her body sagged against the familiar comfort, sobs still coming hard and fast.

The hands clutching Holtzmann’s shirt this time were the desperate hands of a drowning victim. Erin clung to her like a lifeline. Like the small, unassuming engineer was the only thing in the world that could keep her grounded. Her reality was spinning out of control, pieces lost to centrifugal force. If her grip loosened even the slightest, Erin knew she’d fly off into deep space and never find her way back.

They sat together on the cold lab floor for an undeterminable period of time. Holtz rocked, humming softly until Erin quieted into hiccups and then exhausted silence. It took little effort to lift the taller woman into her arms—despite Holtzmann’s smaller stature—and carry her to the couch. Erin stirred under the blanket draped over her, opening bleary, confused eyes. Holtz smiled tenderly, brushing away strands of white and brown hair.

“I’m here.”

It was all the affirmation Erin needed. She dropped off almost immediately, leaving Holtz to watch over her.

Sitting beside the sofa, the engineer tried to process the events of that night. Her hands strayed to her throat where the skin was the most tender. Fear lingered like a stubborn odor. She tried to tell herself it was all right, but it wasn’t. None of this was. None of it had been for a long, long time.

Unbidden, her eyes wander to the whiteboards and linger there. Wondering. Weighing. Biting her lip, Holtz pulled a small flashlight out of one of her many pockets and shined it across the room. What she saw sent the worst kind of chills through her body, enough so she was on her feet, phone in hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I warned you all. We're falling fast and hard from this point on. The light at the end of the end of the tunnel is a long way off, so gear up.
> 
> Reviews are welcome and needed. Working in uncharted territory. Please let me know what you all think.


End file.
